


Stray Thoughts

by Sed



Series: Cursed [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal Instincts, Animal Traits, Animal Transformation, Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, Eventual Romance, Harm to Animals, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Talking Animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 72,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/pseuds/Sed
Summary: Flynn's managed to make a purrfect mess of things, and he needs Shaw's help to fix it. But this tail may pawsibly take them on more of an adventure than they expected.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Series: Cursed [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728049
Comments: 310
Kudos: 216





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I couldn't wait to post this. I've had it sitting for a few weeks, and the wait has been _killing me_.
> 
> Please note this is **not** a continuation of Speechless. All the curse fics are separate stories, they only share a common theme (curses). Each can be read by itself.

_“Shaw.”_

Sleep fought to pull him deeper, away from whatever else existed. If anything existed at all.

_“Hey, Shaw.”_

He felt the feather-light brush of soft fingertips pass over his lips. It was pleasant. Gentle. The sort of touch he hadn’t felt for some time.

_“Wake up.”_

The stubborn remnants of a lingering dream poured through his mind like sand, and he slowly clawed his way back to the waking world. Blinking back sleep and the grit of a late night, Shaw opened his eyes to the unrelenting light of a late spring morning.

That was when he saw the cat.

“What in the Light…” he half-mumbled. “How did you get in here?”

With a smile in its voice, the cat said, _“Took me all night, but I managed to pop the latch on your cabin door.”_

Shaw stared at the cat. The cat, with its stormy eyes and pink nose, stared back.

Time seemed to stop. Shaw felt the air seize in his lungs as though he had been plunged into ice water.

It had finally happened.

He’d been poisoned.

Despite all his caution, all his checking, double-checking, and re-checking, an enemy had managed to slip something past him. It must have been a slow-acting compound, he reasoned, if he had time to hallucinate something as absurd as a _talking cat_. Was there still time to find the source of the poison and neutralize it? He pushed the cat away, somewhat surprised to find that part of his hallucination was actually real, and struggled to sit up.

 _“Do you mind?”_ the cat complained. _“I may land on my feet, mate, but it’s not like a bloody three-foot drop is easy. Little legs.”_ It lifted a paw and scratched at the air in demonstration.

“It’s getting worse,” Shaw muttered.

_“What’s getting worse?”_

“I’ve been poisoned,” he answered without thinking.

 _“Poisoned?!”_ the cat exclaimed. _“By who? And how? I’d’ve thought you never laid a hand on anything you hadn’t caught and skinned yourself. It’s made for some interesting speculation, I don’t mind telling you. Should I get Wyrmbane?”_ The cat was at the door, which was still cracked open a bit on its hinges from the cat’s original ingress. He pawed at the gap, trying to get out.

“Stop talking to me,” Shaw said as he rifled through his supplies. He tried to remember when he’d last eaten, how many hours had passed. He could induce vomiting. That might work. “Cats don’t talk.”

_“And that would be true, were I a cat.”_

He spared a glance at the bottlebrush tail, curled into a neat little question mark, and the tufted ears that twitched with every creak and groan of the ship. “You look like a cat to me.” Why was he _answering_ the cat.

_“Fair enough. Suppose I could look worse. Reckon I will soon enough, anyway; I’ve no intention of licking myself clean. Ever.”_

“Stop it.”

The vial of dark, syrupy liquid he was looking for finally tumbled out of the bag. It rolled across the desk and onto the floor, and in an instant the cat was on it.

 _“Sorry, sorry,”_ the cat said, backing away again and looking up at him. _“It’s some sort of hunting instinct, I reckon. Been happening all day. You should appreciate that I managed to keep my hands to myself while you were sleeping, in fact. Do you know just how much your toes move when you’re asleep? I’ll answer that one for you: quite a lot.”_

Shaw stopped his search with his hands still buried in the bag of herbs and alchemical compounds, narrowing his eyes at the little beast. Something wasn’t right, even a hallucination shouldn’t be talking quite so much. He quickly ran through a mental checklist of the typical side effects of most common poisons. No excessive perspiration, no stomach cramping, no dry mouth. His vision wasn’t blurred, and he didn’t have a headache or feel particularly weary, either.

He looked down at the cat.

“Say something.”

 _“Did you have something specific in mind, or are we just filling the silence?”_ the cat asked.

Now that he focused on it, _really_ focused on it, Shaw realized he knew that voice. The distinctive Kul Tiran accent; the casual, utterly irreverent tone; the emphasis and intonations that had become so very familiar over the months they’d spent working together. But that wasn’t possible. Druids trained for years, sometimes decades or even _centuries_ to master shifting forms. And the person he had in mind was no druid.

“…Fairwind?”

The cat narrowed its eyes and cocked its head slightly. _“You’re just_ now _figuring that out? Aren’t you a spy?”_

Shaw sat himself on the floor before the cat, his legs stretched out in front of him. He knew he was staring, and that he hadn’t actually closed his mouth. Several questions sat poised on the tip of his tongue, but none of them seemed quite as succinct as, “Why?”

_“Why am I a cat, or why—you know what, forget I asked. Got cursed, mate.”_

“Cursed.”

The cat—Flynn, he reminded himself, _Flynn_ —actually managed to look sheepish. _“I may or may not have been poking around in some musty old library where I didn’t belong.”_

“Did you have permission to be in this library?”

_“Permission is such a vague and ill-defined concept, Shaw. You of all people should know that.”_

Shaw scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “So you’re a thief now?”

 _“Not exactly. Bit of a long story.”_ Flynn sat down. His tail flicked back and forth behind him, showing his irritation. _“I was asked to retrieve some stolen property for a very generous acquaintance.”_

“You were hired to break into someone’s home.”

_“Correct. A bad someone, Shaw. Don’t look at me like that. We aren’t all blessed with the crown’s good will, you know. And azerite hauls aren’t paying what they used to these days, what with the Horde all out of sorts. Been a bit skint.”_

In fact, Shaw knew exactly what the Alliance was paying Flynn for each load of azerite he brought in. Evidently, the former pirate still didn’t feel as though that was enough to get by. He could only guess it had something to do with Flynn’s continual efforts to keep his rickety little ship afloat, and his habit of losing gold as fast as he earned it. “I assume this someone—”

_“Bad someone.”_

“—is a mage.”

_“You know, there’s a reason they made you spymaster. Can’t put my paw on it at the moment, but I can tell, there’s potential in you.”_

“Don’t say paw.” For some strange reason he didn’t care to examine, it bothered him. Flynn wasn’t a _cat_. He had been temporarily transfigured into a feline form, but he wasn’t a cat.

_“Why not? Thought I’d have a little fun with it. I can purr, too.”_

“Please don’t.” A thought occurred to him. “Were you sitting on my chest earlier?”

 _“Figured you’d prefer that to the table, or your fancy desk.”_ Flynn suddenly reared his head back and licked his own fluffy white chest. He did that three or four times before he stopped, tongue still sticking out, eyes wide. _“Blast it all. Didn’t even realize I’d done it.”_

Shaw took the opportunity while Flynn sorted himself out to really look him over. He seemed to be a fairly standard cat. Plain in every way apart from the fact that Shaw could understand him. The top of his body and tail were the same auburn as his hair, with a faint patterning of darker fur along the length of his body. His belly, paws, and all but the top of his head were a snowy white, along with the very tip of his tail. He had a pink nose and small, pink pads beneath his tufted paws. At a glance, he looked like nothing more than a well cared for pet.

_“You know, it’s strange, I don’t even notice I’ve got fur on my tongue.”_

“Why is it I can hear you?” Shaw wasn’t hearing him out loud—he had realized that much almost right away. It was like an arcane whisper, or some form of telepathic communication. Not unheard of on Azeroth, but not exactly common, either.

_“Not a clue, I’m afraid. I suppose I’m lucky you can hear me at all, else I’d probably be skinned and drying right about now.”_

“I wouldn’t skin a cat.”

_“Well, that’s a relief.”_

Shaw leaned back against the desk with a sigh. It occurred to him that he was still in his underwear, but that hardly seemed to be the most relevant issue at the moment. “The lord admiral might be able to help with your… condition.” Jaina was a talented mage, and if anyone could reverse a curse—if Flynn had indeed been cursed—it would be her.

Flynn made a face. It looked like a grimace, but Shaw couldn’t really be certain. _“Could we put a pin in that option for the moment?”_ he asked. _“I’d rather the admiralty didn’t know about this little side job of mine. I’m certain Lady Proudmoore has better things to do than transfigure ex-pirates, anyway.”_

“You are a contracted agent of the Alliance.”

_“Still, things being what they are, I’d like if we could suss out a cure on our own. You game?”_

Things _had_ been quiet since the ceasefire. If pressed, Shaw might admit that he’d been looking for something to do to fill the time. Unless or until King Anduin recalled the fleet to the Eastern Kingdoms, they were essentially on a sort of informal, extended leave. The _Wind’s Redemption_ was all but empty, with a skeleton crew manning the posts on deck at most times. It was only at night that they bothered to increase security. Which begged the question how a cat had managed to slip through.

“It may take time,” Shaw warned him.

 _“Oh, but what a story it’ll be when we’re through,”_ Flynn said wistfully. _“Incidentally, I’ll need something to eat, if you wouldn’t mind lending your assistance with that small endeavor. The sooner the better. This little body burns energy like you wouldn’t believe. Spent half the night fighting to keep my eyes open.”_

“You should sleep.”

_“Naps don’t seem very conducive to curing my curse.”_

Shaw shook his head. “Cats sleep for hours throughout the day. They’re called cat naps for a reason.”

_“Well, that’s not really an option at the moment. Unless you’re offering up your lap.”_

“Fairwind.”

If a cat could smile, Flynn was practically grinning. _“Can’t blame me for trying,”_ he said.

  
After he had dressed, ordering Flynn to turn around so that he could have some privacy, Shaw opened the door and watched the small bundle of fur as he bounded up the steps onto the deck of the _Redemption_. His tail flicked and twitched, and he looked around as though seeing the ship for the first time.

_“Lot bigger than I remember.”_

“You’re much smaller,” Shaw said. He stepped lightly as he crossed the deck, keeping one eye on Flynn the whole way. He simply didn’t want to step on him. The man seemed determined to be underfoot. “Walk _beside_ me,” he said after the second time he nearly kicked Flynn in the ribs.

_“Sorry, it’s like I can’t keep myself from trying to get ahead of you. Cats aren’t really single-file creatures, are they? Or… maybe they are. Really, I’ve no idea at all why I’m doing this.”_

They received some strange looks, but Shaw ignored them; between corrupted tidesages and wicker beasts, they should all be well accustomed to such oddities. A talking cat was hardly news.

The high commander and General Feathermoon were already gathered at the map table, awaiting Shaw’s arrival. He gave them each a respectful nod and asked, “Any news from Stormwind?”

“I’m afraid not,” Wyrmbane said. It was the same answer he gave every morning, responding to the same question. “We—what in the Light…”

Flynn had jumped up on the table. He sat on one corner, tail hanging over the edge, swinging lazily back and forth. Shaw thought to reprimand him, but then changed his mind. It really was the only way he would be able to be a part of the conversation.

 _“Couldn’t see anything,”_ Flynn informed them. He absently batted at one of the weighted plotters shaped like a Kul Tiran anchor, making a pleased sound when it fell over on its side with a solid clack.

“Shaw, why is there a cat on board?” Wyrmbane asked. He had removed his helmet, and was in the process of unbuckling his plate gloves. With one hand bare, he reached out to stroke the top of Flynn’s head.

 _“Oh, that’s_ lovely _, that is,”_ Flynn groaned.

“Commander?” Shaw watched the strange display with a mix of curiosity and mild horror. He looked to Shandris for some sense of normalcy, but she seemed similarly transfixed by Flynn.

“Quite a striking animal,” she said, reaching out to pet him.

Wyrmbane had shifted his attentions to Flynn’s chin, scratching him lightly. Shandris stroked a hand down Flynn’s back. She reached the spot at the base of his tail and he shot up on all fours, a look of total bliss on his face. He was _purring_.

Shaw stared at them, utterly baffled. “What are you doing?” he asked, only a little alarm creeping into his voice.

“Petting this delightful little creature” Shandris answered. She said it as though he had asked her whether the sky was blue. “I must admit that I never took you for a man who would seek the comfort of an animal companion, Master Shaw.”

Shaw looked at Wyrmbane. He was actually smiling. When he caught Shaw’s incredulous stare, he cleared his throat and said, “I was never permitted to have pets as a child.”

“He isn’t a _pet_ ,” Shaw said through gritted teeth. “Why are you _touching_ him?”

Flynn had started kneading the map below him, alternately lifting his front paws as though slowly marching in place. His little paws made quiet _pap-pap_ sounds against the thick parchment paper. _“No complaints here,”_ he said, sounding half-drunk, _“let them have at it. This is fantastic.”_

“Would you prefer that we not?” Shandris asked. It was the most absurd question Shaw had ever heard.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. He was no longer concerned with appearances, or maintaining his carefully constructed facade of calm. He was hardly the only one making a scene, anyway.

“Shaw, what’s gotten into you?” Wyrmbane scratched behind Flynn’s ear, and Flynn practically fell over trying to lean into his touch.

 _“Let me have this,”_ Flynn complained.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re comfortable with this insanity.”

_“Honestly? Feels great.”_

Shaw sighed. “Tell them what happened, now, or I will. And I won’t be nearly as flattering about it.”

Flynn groaned, this time in frustration. _“Fine,”_ he said sullenly. He ducked away from their reach and came to sit closer to Shaw. _“It started with a contract. A visiting mage approached me in a tavern, said he’d been told I might be able to help him with a little problem of his.”_

“Shaw, I’ll need you to look over a missive that was intercepted by one of our Kul Tiran scouts,” Wyrmbane interrupted. “It seems like a standard Horde cipher, but you may catch something Crestfall’s people missed.”

 _“Did he not just hear me telling a story?”_ Flynn asked indignantly, looking up at Shaw.

Shaw started to answer, but then it hit him—no, he _hadn’t_. Shandris and Wyrmbane couldn’t hear Flynn. “You don’t hear him,” he said.

“Hear who?” Wyrmbane asked. He and Shandris were looking at him strangely now, a hint of concern chasing their curiosity.

“Fairwind.” Shaw pointed to the small, furry body beside him. “Only I can hear him, right?”

For a moment, he thought the slowly-dawning look of unease that came over both of them was the realization that they had been rather intimately stroking Flynn Fairwind. But then Shandris gave him a pitying look and said, “Perhaps you could use more rest, Master Shaw.”

Shaw narrowed his eyes at her. “What?”

Flynn laughed. _“Shaw, rest?”_ he asked. _“I was surprised he even had a_ bed _, truth be told.”_

“That isn’t helping the situation.”

“Shaw, are you alright?” Now it was Wyrmbane who looked at him as though he might snap at any moment and throw himself overboard. “I realize the silence has been stressful, but—”

“I am not losing my mind,” Shaw growled. “This is Flynn Fairwind. He’s been cursed—or not, I don’t—the point is, he can understand you. I can understand him.”

“Shaw.” Wyrmbane reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

“This is absolutely ridiculous. Fairwind, jump down from the table and walk in a circle three times.”

Sighing, Flynn did as instructed. He hopped down and padded over to the center of the deck, where he proceeded to do three clockwise circles. When he was done, he sat down and wrapped his fluffy tail around his legs. _“Anything else, Ringmaster Shaw? Any flaming hoops I could jump through?”_

Shaw frowned at him. “I’ll let you know.” He turned back to the others. “Do you see now?”

It was Shandris who arrived at the truth first. She looked at Flynn, then at her own hand. “I…”

“You were petting Fairwind,” Shaw confirmed for her.

“Oh.”

“It can’t be,” Wyrmbane muttered. He looked at Flynn. “Roll over. Captain.” He stumbled on Flynn’s title, awkwardly tacking it on at the end.

 _“You could muster a ‘please,’ I’m sure,”_ Flynn said snidely. _“And do I look like a dog to you?”_

“He can’t hear you,” Shaw reminded him. “Just do as he says.”

Some indistinct muttering reached Shaw from where Flynn was sitting, but he dropped to a crouch and rolled over regardless. He sat serenely again when he was through. _“I hope that’s good enough, because I’ve no intention of walking on my hind legs for an audience.”_

Shaw looked around; the strange display of pet tricks had caught the attention of the crew, it seemed. Soldiers and sailors were gathering around, watching Flynn as he performed tricks to prove his identity. It occurred to Shaw that word of Flynn’s transformation getting out might prove inconvenient for them. Especially if the mage Flynn had tried to steal from caught wind of it. “I’m sure you all have better things to do than stare at a cat,” he said, trying to sound as bored and dismissive as possible.

It worked; they all dispersed with a collective start, scrambling back to their posts.

“We should keep this to ourselves,” Shaw said. He watched Flynn as he coiled himself at the base of the table, preparing for a jump. There was something oddly charming about the way he wiggled before he made the leap.

Wyrmbane looked absolutely mortified. He stared down at Flynn, his mouth agape. “Captain, I…” he began. “I apologize, I didn’t realize—”

 _“No harm done,”_ Flynn said. _“In fact, I rather enjoyed it.”_ Apparently he had forgotten all about his earlier indignation. _“Oh. That’s right. Can’t hear me. Shaw?”_

“He accepts your apology,” Shaw informed the high commander.

_“That’s not what I said!”_

“How did this happen?” Shandris asked. She couldn’t seem to stop staring at Flynn.

“It seems Fairwind was hired to retrieve some stolen property from a mage’s study. He must have tripped a magical ward, or come in contact with something with enough latent power to trigger a transformation.”

“I take it this mission was not sanctioned by the local authorities,” Wyrmbane said.

“It was not.”

_“Look, the little fellow needed help. He seemed alright.”_

“‘Alright’ is hardly a diligent assessment of a potential threat,” Shaw muttered. “It’s amazing you’ve lived this long, frankly.”

Flynn scoffed. _“Well, joke’s on you, now I’ve got eight more lives on top of this one.”_

  
_“So, where do we start?”_ Flynn asked. He pawed another piece of chicken from the shallow bowl Shaw had set out on the table. It fell to the floor—just as the last seven pieces had—and he briefly disappeared to retrieve it. _“I’ll get the hang of that eventually.”_

“You could just eat from the bowl like a normal cat.”

 _“Not happening, mate. If I thought I could hold a fork or a spoon, believe me, I’d try. I’m not sacrificing what’s left of my meager dignity.”_ He awkwardly wolfed down the chunk of meat, evidently unaware of how undignified _that_ was.

“We could start with one of the local tidesages. Brother Pike has proven himself reliable in the past,” Shaw said. And uncorrupted. “My sources most recently put him in Stormsong Valley.”

_“Beautiful place. So we head there, yes?”_

“You really should stay here.” Flynn was much smaller and far more vulnerable as a cat than he was as a man. For all its beauty, Stormsong had its share of predators, and not all of them were beasts.

_“We’ve been over this. I’m not hanging around here like some mouser, or a flea-bitten wharf cat. Most of the people you’ve got aboard don’t know who I am. What if they toss me off the ship?”_

“That won’t happen.”

 _“Yeah? And what’ll you do about it from Stormsong if they do?”_ Flynn shook his head. _“I’d feel much better coming with you.”_

The strange thing was, Shaw could _sense_ that. Over the course of the day, he had come to realize that it wasn’t just words he was hearing, but the intent behind them. The sincerity of his statements. It made sense, he supposed; he wasn’t really _hearing_ anything, after all. Somehow, the tone and intention had to transmit along with the words he was meant to perceive. Any Kirin Tor novice could have puzzled out as much, and likely why. The real question was, why him? Why could he understand Flynn, and the others couldn’t?

He asked the same question aloud, and Flynn made a noncommittal noise. _“Who knows? Could be random chance. Could be that you were the first person I spoke to after I was changed.”_

The implications of that second theory were potentially disastrous. If it had only taken a single word, then an errant _hello_ might have been enough to leave Flynn stranded without any means of communication. It was a good thing he’d come straight to the _Redemption_.

 _“Could be who I was thinking of when it happened,”_ Flynn continued, jerking Shaw out of his thoughts.

“What? Why were you thinking of me?” And why had his stomach given an uncomfortable lurch when Flynn said it?

Whatever emotion came along with Flynn’s answer, it was the closest Shaw had ever felt to actually _sensing_ a shrug. _“No particular reason. Probably I was thinking how I’d outclassed your sneaking skills.”_

“Yes, that’s why you’re a cat now.” He pulled a piece of parchment over from the other side of the table. “We should write down everything we understand so far about your condition.”

 _“You make it sound like a sickness, mate. You can’t go slumming around Dampwick and pick up a bad case of_ cat _.”_ Flynn finished the last of the chicken and hopped up onto the table. He made a beeline for the remaining stack of parchment, settling down atop it with his paws tucked under his chest. _“Strangely comfortable,”_ he said.

“I suppose I should consider myself lucky you aren’t lying across the paperwork on my desk.”

 _“That’s later. Say, where am I sleeping?”_ Flynn asked. He shifted onto his side, making himself comfortable. _“Stack of parchment really isn’t ideal.”_

Shaw glanced up at him with a slight frown. It hadn’t escaped his notice that he was much more open and expressive with Flynn as he currently was. Maybe it was only his form; it was somewhat difficult to take him seriously as a cat. “I assume you can still find your way home.”

 _“Haven’t really got a ‘home,’ per se,”_ Flynn said. _“I’ve been staying aboard the_ Middenwake _.”_

“Well,” Shaw shrugged, “there, in that case.”

A feeling of offense carried over on an indignant scoff, chased with a wave of uncertainty. Flynn was worried. _“You’re going to send me packing like this? So much for leaving me behind out of concern for my safety. Anything could happen to me out there!”_

“Boralus Harbor is hardly comparable to Stormsong Valley. And you are the one who insisted on going with me.”

_“What if I can’t get aboard my own ship?”_

It was the genuine concern lacing the words that eventually made Shaw relent. He set his quill down with a sigh, rubbing his eyes to chase away some of the growing fatigue. It had been a long day, and tomorrow wasn’t looking much better. “Fine,” he said. “You can stay here. But you will sleep on the floor. There’s a rug, that should be sufficient for a cat.”

_“You certainly know how to make a man feel welcome, Shaw.”_

  
That night, Shaw went to bed earlier than usual, settling into his bunk with the knowledge that Flynn was lying curled up on the floor beneath him. It was a strange situation to find himself in. On the one hand, he had come to know the man well enough that sharing space was no longer quite the imposition it might have once been. In the time they’d known one another, they had been partnered up for more than one mission that required suffering cramped quarters. But on the other hand, he was a _cat_. He was a cat, and he could only communicate with one person, and that was Shaw. It changed things.

He rolled over and peered over the edge of his bunk. Flynn was in the same spot on the floor, only he’d managed to twist himself into a shape that didn’t seem physically possible or particularly comfortable. He was curled into a ball, his back legs extended up past his head, which was twisted at an odd angle, and one errant paw sticking out behind his back. His ears were flicking wildly, and his whiskers were twitching. As Shaw watched, he started to move his paws as though he was running in his sleep.

He was _dreaming_.

Shaw let his head fall to the bed and watched the strange show taking place on his cabin floor. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for forcing the man to sleep there. Surely it wasn’t the same, sharing a bed when he was a cat? And Flynn had been so grateful just to have a place to stay. At the very least he could have been provided with a blanket of his own.

With a start and a hiss, Flynn suddenly jerked awake. He was halfway to standing before he came to, evidently realizing where he was, and _what_ he was.

“Nightmare?” Shaw asked.

 _“Aye,”_ Flynn sighed. He yawned, baring a mouth full of sharp teeth and fangs, and stretched from nose to tail. It was strangely ...adorable. Though Shaw hesitated to apply that word to a colleague.

“If you would like a blanket—”

 _“Mind letting me out, actually?”_ Flynn asked. He had moved to the door, where he stared up at the latch expectantly. _“I’ve some business to attend to, if you catch my meaning.”_

Shaw hesitated. He hadn’t considered this side of things. And why would he? It wasn’t as though anyone had ever composed a guide for assisting friends and comrades in arms with spontaneous animal transformation. Then it occurred to him how humiliating it must be for Flynn, to have to ask for assistance with something so simple. Something they all took for granted. “Of course,” he said. He hauled himself out of the bunk and opened the door. “I’ll leave this open for you.”

 _“Much appreciated,”_ Flynn said. He disappeared into the darkness, and for a moment Shaw considered waiting for him to return. But then he shook his head, combed his fingers through his hair, and took himself back to bed. Flynn Fairwind hardly needed anyone to look after him, cat or not.

Art by Nik  
  


He was torn from sleep some time later by the sound of claws skittering across the worn wood floor, and a small body crashing into the legs of the chair and table. Shaw was on his feet in a flash, and in the same swift motion he brought a concealed dagger out to brandish against whatever unfortunate intruder had found their way into his cabin.

Instead, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found himself entirely alone.

Well, not _entirely_.

Flynn was scrambling about the floor, careening off the walls of the cabin, heedless of whatever was in his way. He came to a stop in the middle of the woven rug, his legs outstretched and claws fully extended, eyes wide and black in the light of the moons. His ears were pinned back, and every hair on his small body seemed to be standing on end.

“What in the hell has gotten into you?!” Shaw demanded. But he’d barely finished speaking before Flynn was off again, tearing around the room as though possessed.

 _“No idea!”_ Flynn shouted. _“I just need to run!”_

“It’s the middle of the night, Flynn!”

_“Doesn’t feel like it!”_

He stumbled back as Flynn came hurtling past, clawing his way across his bare feet in the process. With a shout and a curse, Shaw fell backwards into his bunk, hitting his head against the back wall of the cabin and accidentally biting his lip. He tasted blood. “Give it a rest!” he roared.

Flynn didn’t stop, however. He only changed direction mid-stride, turning back the way he’d come and continuing his mad dash around the room.

“That’s it,” Shaw snapped. “Get out.” He threw himself out of the bunk and stormed over to the door. “Now.”

That did bring Flynn’s acrobatics to a stop, and he skidded to a halt between the small table and the wall. _“What?”_

“You heard me, Fairwind. I need to sleep. Out.”

_“I’m a cat, mate, you can’t just—”_

“Don’t make me pick you up by the scruff.” He opened the door and gestured into the corridor outside. “Go.”

 _“You’re really doing this?”_ Flynn asked. He was hurt by it. Shaw couldn’t ignore that, but he _could_ pretend he hadn’t felt it. He hadn’t yet shared that particular detail of their connection with Flynn. _“It’s the middle of the night!”_

“You should have thought of that before you decided to bring the Argent Tournament grounds into my cabin.” He stood motionless beside the door, waiting for Flynn to follow orders the way he never actually did, even as a man.

_“Let’s talk about this.”_

Shaw continued to stare.

Flynn’s eyes narrowed and his tail flicked wildly behind him, sweeping the floor as he stood poised, still very clearly a bundle of energy in a small, furry form. _“Fine,”_ he said. He padded past Shaw and sat himself on the other side of the door, out in the corridor. _“Happy?”_ The question was brimming with contempt. _“I’ve left your cabin.”_

Shaw slammed the door shut and slid the bolt into place.

He could hear Flynn’s muffled complaints from the other side of the door. His affront was clear, even without the emotional intent behind them. _“Oh, ha ha, Shaw. Very funny,”_ he shouted. _“You can let me back in now.”_

A tiny white paw appeared from the gap under the door.

_“Shaw?”_

“Goodnight, Fairwind.”

 _“You’re a right bastard when you want to be, you know that?”_ Little claws protruded from the ends of Flynn’s toes, searching for some part of Shaw that he could scratch. When that failed, the paw disappeared, and the corridor fell silent.

“I suggest you find somewhere to bunk up for the night,” Shaw said. He waited for a response. “Goodnight, Captain.”

Flynn was just angry. Shaw checked the wounds on his foot under the lamplight, and then shuffled back to his bunk. In the morning they would have a discussion about proper etiquette when sharing personal space. Until then, Flynn would have to make do elsewhere. Probably curled up on a barrel in the hold. He would be fine. Cats were capable creatures, and Flynn Fairwind was a more or less capable man. 

Even so… Shaw lay awake for some time after that, listening for noises outside his door, or the muffled sound of a familiar voice, unable to sleep. His thoughts troubled him, and he couldn't help wondering if making Flynn leave had truly been the best decision for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that I am on [tumblr](https://tinylionsed.tumblr.com/) on a new blog!


	2. Chapter 2

Flynn made his way up onto the deck in a flurry of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, or… paw, he supposed… fair was fair, he had been a bit of a poor house guest. But on the other, _he was a cat_. At the best of times he barely knew why he was doing anything. Since being transformed, he’d caught himself doing things he hadn’t desired or anticipated. They just… happened. On several occasions, he’d ended up with one leg stretched over his head, twisted into a position he’d only ever fantasized about on his most rum-soaked evenings, tongue out and ready to do something he wasn’t entirely certain he understood. That was apparently his life now. So he’d gotten a little carried away running about the cabin, it was all in good fun! If Shaw weren’t such a poor sport he might have actually understood that.

The moons were out, illuminating the night and the harbor around him. Not that he needed it; as a cat, Flynn could see fine details even in near darkness. Although, his colors were a bit faded, and things tended to get blurry at a distance. But other than that it was incredible, really. He wondered if druids went through the same thing when they first learned to shift forms, or if they ever found themselves disappointed by their limited senses when they changed back. He made a note to ask the next druid he met. Assuming he _could_ ask them; having no one but Shaw to speak to had been amusing at first, but the shine had come off that apple rather quickly. The man was… He was just born annoyed. A few puncture wounds in his feet and he went all out of sorts. What sort of spymaster let himself be taken by surprise by a cat, anyway? _Twice!_

“You don’t belong here,” he heard an unfamiliar voice say. “How’d you get aboard?”

Flynn turned and looked up into the helmeted face of a 7th Legion sailor. One of the night watch, as he recalled.

 _“No, I certainly_ do _belong here,”_ he tried to say, but even as he did, he knew that all the man would hear were plaintive little meows. _“Look, let me get Shaw…”_

“Alright, off you go. Don’t need you yowling all night, waking up the whole ship.”

 _“I’m supposed to be here! I don’t yowl!”_ Flynn yowled.

He was picked up surprisingly gently, and though he tried to struggle in the sailor’s grip, he was unable to do more than wiggle around and flail uselessly. Once the man had him, he carried Flynn to the deck rail, and for one terrifying moment it seemed to Flynn like he was about to be dumped in the harbor. He had no idea if he could swim as a cat, and the thought of finding out in the middle of a very cold night was less than appealing. Fortunately, he was only tossed lightly onto the dock. He landed on his feet, and silently thanked whatever unknowable powers looked after cats that so many of their skills seemed to require no conscious effort.

“Go on, now,” the sailor said, shooing him off.

 _“Yeah, I’ll just do that. What’s your name, anyway? I want to tell Shaw who you are so that tomorrow morning he can—you can’t hear me. And you’re walking away.”_ He raised his voice. _“WELL, I’LL REMEMBER YOUR SMELL. I CAN DO THAT, YOU KNOW.”_

He would, too. Just to prove a point.

A thick fog had draped itself across the harbor, which wasn’t unusual for most nights, but it left Flynn’s fur feeling damp and heavy, and dulled his senses just enough to be mildly annoying. It would do him no good to go to the _Middenwake_ , he decided; she was moored in a slip meant for a much larger vessel, which she shared with two other small ships. As a human, it was easy enough for him to make the leap onto the deck. He wasn’t so confident about his chances as a cat, regardless of how _high_ he could jump. And if he was wrong… Well, there was no ladder to climb out of that part of the harbor, and no nearby jetty to crawl up onto. Better to avoid the risk of taking an unintended swim altogether.

He loped along the dock and up some steps following a usual route, and soon found himself at the open door of a little tavern he liked to haunt when he was feeling low. His paws had only just crossed the threshold when he was abruptly waylaid by the side of a broom.

“No you don’t!” the barkeep shouted. He made a _tsss-tsss_ noise at Flynn, pushing him back outside with the broom like he was a particularly offensive bit of trash. “Get!” he shouted.

 _“I’m just trying to take a seat, mate!”_ Flynn complained. On some level he was aware that the man couldn’t understand him, and that trying to enter a tavern as a cat was a bit ridiculous, but it was more a matter of principle by that point. He dashed past the next sweep of the bristles just because he could, leaping up onto a bar stool more gracefully than he ever had as a human. With his paws up on the counter, he shouted, _“I demand to be served! I’ve been a paying customer here for years!”_

“Get the cat!” the barkeep shouted to someone.

Flynn was swiftly snatched up by a large pair of hands and tossed out the door. He landed on his feet—again—and turned around ready for a fight. His back was arched and his fur fluffed about him, ears pinned against his skull. For some strange reason he was standing sideways, but he wasn’t in the frame of mind to question what his feline instincts were telling him to do at that particular moment.

“Stay out, ye filthy thing!”

_“Reckon I’m cleaner than you, you wharf rat smelling son of a bitch!”_

The door slammed shut, and Flynn was plunged into the shadows of the moonlit street.

Well, so much for getting an ale. Probably couldn’t even drink ale, come to think of it.

He continued on his way, unsure of where he was headed. It was early enough that the streets were still seeing use, but late enough that the passing crowd was light. Flynn dodged between legs, testing out his new senses and abilities. He was agile, swift, and sure-footed. All things he should have expected, though the amusement it provided was a surprise. He careened around a corner, dodging the wheels of a small cart, and skidded to a halt at the sight of a large, feathered monster looming over him like a mountain.

The creature’s rough squawk was nearly deafening, and Flynn felt his fur stand on end at the sound of it. He cowered back, his fluffed-up tail tucked protectively at his side, and he might have run if not for the familiar sight that appeared around the side of the mass of feathers.

 _“Tae!”_ he shouted in joy. His ears shot forward, and he stood straight, tail curled happily. _“Tae, it’s me!”_

“It’s only a little kitty, Galeheart,” Taelia said, soothing her gryphon. “Leave it be.”

Flynn blinked at the eyes nestled behind the clacking beak. Tides, that _was_ Galeheart, and she was massive. He hardly recognized her! Then again, he was far more accustomed to viewing her from over the saddle, or while dangling from her claws. _“Don’t suppose you can understand me?”_ he asked her.

The gryphon snapped her beak again and made a deep, cooing sound. That was likely a no, then.

“Kitties aren’t snacks,” Taelia admonished, pulling Galeheart back. “Let’s get you settled for the night, eh? I’ve got some nice rabbit for you, you can eat that.”

 _“Always knew you’d eat me if given half a chance,”_ Flynn muttered.

He sat down and sighed as he watched her steer the gryphon away for the night, leaving the flight master’s alcove empty. _“I really wish you could understand me, Tae,”_ he said wistfully. _“Then I could ask you to take me back to Shaw.”_ He stopped and grimaced at himself. Since when was _Shaw_ his go-to for safety?

Since he’d been turned into a cat, that was when.

Well, he didn’t like that one bit. He didn’t need Shaw for anything, and certainly not to keep him safe. He was a grown man, captain of his own ship, and he’d gotten himself into and out of more trouble than he could recall. Now he had _claws_. Claws, keen night vision, and fangs. He was the next best thing to one of those worgen, really. Only more compact and portable. And self-cleaning.

He considered bedding down for the night in the warm nest of straw left behind by Galeheart, but it was too likely he’d wake up to a beak in his face, or worse, a large rear end settling down on top of him. The _Middenwake_ was still a leap too far for his liking, and he wasn’t certain he’d be able to sneak back aboard the _Redemption_ without being caught. The sailor who had banished him before might not be so friendly the second time around.

His only real option was to make his way in the city for the night. Shaw would come looking for him in the morning, and he would find Flynn waiting on the dock with a very stern _I told you so_. They could address his discourtesy then, and possibly lay a few ground rules.

In the meantime, Flynn had the city before him, and a whole night to see what sort of trouble he could get up to. He figured he might as well get started.

  
As it turned out, the city was _full_ of cats. Most of them didn’t give a damn about a newcomer in their midst, but a few of the more uppity toms had chased him off when they spotted him too close to what he assumed was their territory. Or a particularly high, flat spot they seemed to like. One or two had been keen to sniff him, and at first he’d been game. However, he had very swiftly learned that cats liked to get to know one another from the back end. That had been a bit awkward, especially the first time he’d given another cat a smack on the head and received nothing but wide-eyed bewilderment in return. Apparently, in the cat world, _not_ letting someone sniff your ass was the gaffe.

The city itself reeked of smells, of course, which hardly surprised him. It wasn’t that they were all bad, exactly. In fact, most of them were fine. The sheer volume of scents was just a bit too overwhelming for his new nose to take, that was all. He wasn’t always able to separate one from another, and some smells that he thought he should have liked, such as flowers, instead only fell flat on his senses. He supposed that was on account of flowers being useless to a cat. Except as a snack, of course.

Along those lines, he decided the next order of business was to find himself some dinner. Cats seemed to eat whatever they could get their paws on, so it only made sense that he should do the same. His little tummy had been complaining for some time, and the chicken Shaw had procured for him from the galley was hardly sufficient to hold him over for the entire evening. Another complaint he would be lodging with his reluctant host upon his return.

He first circled over to the Tradewinds Market, hoping something might have been dropped while the stalls were closing up for the night. Sadly, the whole area seemed to have been picked clean already. There wasn’t a scrap to be found. After that, he followed his nose up to the shops behind the promenade, hoping one of them might have left something out, but all he managed to find was an open barrel of garbage. Some shopkeeper’s trash, it seemed like. Luckily for him, that trash contained what appeared to be a half-eaten sandwich. It wasn’t the most appetizing meal he could imagine, but then he had eaten far more questionable things as a man, and would undoubtedly eat worse before his time as a cat was through.

It was a tricky bit of balance, trying to reach down into the bin with his head while still keeping his paws firmly on the rim of the barrel. The damn things just weren’t made for cats, which was an oversight he had not anticipated. Navigating the world without thumbs was proving far more tedious than he had expected.

He was just about to close his fangs around what smelled like a bit of smoked fish and some delicious cheese spread when the back door of the closest shop swung open. A barrel-chested man came stomping out holding an apron loaded full with trash.

“Whassat—so it’s _you_ who’s been digging in my trash!” the man shouted. He dropped what he was carrying and came charging over to the barrel with his arms outstretched. Flynn panicked and lost his grip on the edges, landing awkwardly in the garbage—and the sandwich—before he managed to right himself and scramble out again. Grubby fingers just missed closing around the tip of his tail as he scurried to safety beneath the deck of a nearby garden.

The man continued to stomp and curse, gathering up the trash he had dropped and blaming Flynn for all of it. He dumped everything into the barrel and shoved the lid down on top, sealing it tight. “And stay out!” he shouted, before storming back inside and slamming the door behind him.

Well, so much for that.

There was little else in the area that smelled like food, and so Flynn moved on. Things in the shipyard were still going strong, even at the late hour, with the sounds of revelry spilling out of nearly every door as Flynn trotted past on silent paws. He skimmed past the ramshackle bars and started searching along the water’s edge for unlucky fish. A bit of crab might have been nice, but he had no means to cook the damned things. It was a shame, because they were plentiful, and slow enough on land that he thought he might actually be able to catch one or two. But they merely scuttled aside as he passed, heedless of anything but the bits of seaweed and other detritus they were seeking.

 _“It would be nice if I could actually communicate with someone. Even you lot,”_ he said, flicking his tail in the direction of a hermit crab. It promptly ducked into its shell, disappearing from sight.

Maybe, he reflected, it was time to admit defeat and return to the _Wind’s Redemption_. He had only been out on his own for an hour or two, and in that time he hadn’t managed much beyond learning what objects he could and couldn’t smell at a distance.

With a sigh, he began to retrace his steps along the water’s edge, headed back to the harbor and thinking fondly of a nice, flat barrel lid where he could sleep off the rest of his miserable evening. He was just about to turn up the narrow lane that would take him back to the market when he caught the delicious scent of fish. Of course, the shipyards always smelled like fish in one form or another, wedged between the sound and the market as they were, but this was _fresh_. Flynn could practically taste it on his tongue. He lifted his nose and began walking, following the invisible threads of that tempting aroma, until he arrived at what appeared to be a cat meeting he hadn’t been invited to attend.

There must have been twenty cats, all gathered around a stack of lumber at the edge of the boardwalk. Atop the pile of wood sat a kindly-looking old man, holding a fish in each hand. Beside him lay a bucket and a fishing pole. He was talking to the cats, handing them each a fish one at a time like one of the Tradewinds vendors. Most of the cats took the free meal politely, but some approached hesitantly, snatching the fish from his hand before running off. The whole time the man kept speaking to them, praising them for their fine coats, and sometimes offering a quick scratch behind the ears.

Flynn couldn’t see any sort of queue, and so he simply wedged himself in with the remaining cats and waited his turn. The fish they were receiving came from the bucket, and they were all still wriggling as one by one each cat clamped down and tottered off with their prize. They weren’t big, by any means—bycatch, Flynn assumed—but a free meal was a free meal.

“Only one left!” the man announced as he reached into the bucket. It was Flynn and a large tom still waiting, and Flynn had come well after the other cat. He started to turn away, resigned to spending the night hungry, when he heard an unhappy _tsk_. “You’ve already got yours,” the man said to the large tom. “What’d you do, swallow it in one bite? Let this new fellow have his turn.” He shooed the tom away, and pointed the fish at Flynn. “Here you go,” he said.

Flynn could have kissed him. He came bounding up to the man’s feet and stood up on his back legs, bracing himself against the man’s bony knees and reaching for the fish.

“You’re a hungry one, aren’t you,” the man said kindly. “Keep a good hold on it.”

With fish in hand, Flynn popped back down onto all fours and took his dinner over to the boardwalk, which was marginally less grimy than the cobblestone and mud around the rest of the shipyard. The fish had stopped wriggling, and so he opened his jaws and dropped it onto the wood so that he could get a better look at where to start—

And the fish promptly started flopping again.

It threw itself around the boardwalk like a snared seagull. Flynn chased it around, trying to recapture it, but for all his instincts he couldn’t seem to anticipate where it was going to land next. And then _flop-flop-flop_ , it hurled itself over the side of the boardwalk and into the water.

Flynn stared at where the fish had just been a moment earlier. He could hardly believe what had happened. Surely someone was purposely trying to make this the worst night of his life? Things like that didn’t just _happen_ , did they?

He turned back to where the fisherman had been sitting, hoping perhaps he might take pity, and cast his line for a replacement, but the man was gone. The pile of lumber was empty, and only the faint scent of human remained.

Well, that was just wonderful.

 _“At least this is the absolute low point,”_ he said to himself.

Which was just tempting fate, really; a second later, the sky rumbled ominously, and Flynn felt the first few raindrops land on his fur.

_“Oh, come on!”_

  
  


He ran back to the harbor through the rain, trying his damnedest to keep under the eaves of the shops the whole way. It was a pointless effort, really; the rain was lashing in from off the ocean, pelting Boralus at a slant and making it impossible to avoid. His fur was soaked through by the time he reached the _Redemption_ , and he realized with a sinking feeling in his tiny gut that there was nowhere on that side of the sea wall that wasn’t currently being drenched with rain. Even the stacked barrels, always standing sentinel on the dock below the ship, would offer no protection. His only option left was the _Middenwake_.

Gathering his energy for one last burst of speed, Flynn dashed down to the length of the harbor, his feet barely touching the ground as he ran. He could just see the mast of the _Middenwake_ when something delicious caught his eye, and he came to a halt skidding across the wet stone.

There was a wing of some kind—chicken, maybe, or even gull—lying out in the open. It was soaking wet, but he could smell the oil it had been cooked in, and the spices that were rubbed into the skin. Flynn couldn’t tell if his mouth was watering or if that was just more rain, and he sprang toward the tasty morsel with a cheer. But just as he was about to close on it, another cat came out of nowhere and crouched over it, growling menacingly and flicking its tail in warning.

 _“Come on, mate, I saw it first!”_ Flynn complained.

The cat swiped at him and hissed, and Flynn reared back to avoid having his nose sliced open by wicked claws.

 _“You’re going on my list!”_ he said to the cat. _“I’m making a list of people_ — _and animals_ — _that have been rude to me tonight. I’ll sniff you all out later and oh, there will be a reckoning. Mark my words!”_

The cat continued to growl, even as it picked up the soggy chicken wing in its mouth and dashed off through the rain.

Flynn watched it go and sighed to himself. No use crying over lost chicken, he supposed. And it was probably for the best, anyway. After all, he had definitely eaten that day. Who could say the same was true of the other fellow?

Unfortunately, his stomach didn’t much care about the soft spot he had for sad cases. It clenched uncomfortably, and he cast a wistful glance back at the _Wind’s Redemption_. There was more chicken in that galley. Also fish, and probably some tastier delights that had come all the way from the Eastern Kingdoms. Which, now that he thought about it, Flynn realized Shaw really should have offered to him earlier. Probably didn’t want to waste the good stuff on a _cat_.

He continued on his way, plodding along the rain-soaked street until he reached the slip where the _Middenwake_ was moored. She was at the very end, the largest of the three ships crowded into the single slip. The earlier tide had pulled her straight, with her rear cast out in the open water. Only her lines kept her safely in place, but she was a good six feet from the wharf. If he’d had hands, there was a chance he might have been able to pull her in a bit, but as it was he barely had fingers. Claws weren’t going to help him tug a boat that large close enough to shrink the gap.

A cat could jump six feet, of course. He was confident that he’d seen one do it before. What he wasn’t so confident about was his ability to do the same thing—or, if he was being entirely honest with himself, that he had accurately estimated the distance. It might be ten feet. In fact, it probably was.

With the _Middenwake_ once more out of the question, he hurried under the slight overhang provided by one of the smaller ships. There he huddled beneath the minimal shelter offered by its short quarterdeck. The rain was coming down in sheets, which meant no one was around to shoo him off. All the sailors would be tucked away comfortably within their cabins, warm and dry, just like Shaw. Flynn tried not to feel too bitter about that, or and being sent packing like some unruly pet.

He sat in that safe spot out of the rain for just a few minutes while he considered where to go next. His very fluffy tail had been reduced to a sad spindle of heavy, wet fur, but he tried to curl it around his feet anyway. There was no getting dry, of course; even somewhat sheltered from the rain as he was, the water still ran over the stone in streets, flowing past his paws and into the harbor.

It was miserable, utterly miserable. But at least it couldn’t get any worse.

As he sat there contemplating his next move, Flynn’s ears swiveled toward a sound like the squeak of a hinge. It was barely detectable amidst the steady drone of the falling rain around him. Since it was hardly likely to be of any interest, he ignored it. That was a mistake. A few seconds later, a bucketful of alarmingly warm liquid came flying out of the ship’s porthole above him, soaking his already drenched fur in what took him a very short time to identify as human urine.

 _“Oh_ — _oh!”_ Flynn exclaimed, trying to back out of the way, but it was too late. The damage had been done. The porthole snapped shut, and the unlucky swabby whose job it had been to empty the bucket went back to his work, oblivious of the horrible crime he had just committed.

Flynn thought he might have gagged if he’d been a human. As it was, he could only stand there, too shocked to know what to do or what to even think.

 _How?_ How could one man experience so much misery in a single day? Surely the curse had done more than just turn him into a cat? It must have twisted his luck somehow, punished him in some more subtle and sinister way than simply transfiguring him into the least convenient form ever conceived. Alright, that wasn’t fair to cats. They seemed to know how to navigate the world just fine as they were. But that just begged the question _why couldn’t he?_

As he sat there, hoping the rain would clean him off suitably that he didn’t have to clean _himself_ , Flynn considered what he must have done to warrant so much retribution from the universe.

The answer was nothing. He had done nothing. All he’d done was accept a job to retrieve some stolen property, which, in his opinion, didn’t even really count as theft. He was doing the right thing, albeit for a small sum, and it seemed more than reasonable that being so generous and helpful should have balanced the scales in his favor.

Instead, he was sitting on a dock, in the rain, as a cat, soaked in pee. That didn’t seem right at all. Someone was really going to owe him when this was all through.

“Flynn!”

Flynn swiveled his ears and then his head toward the sound of his name. Through the rain and the diffused gray light of a slowly rising sun, he could just make out the shape of a man running toward him.

_“Shaw?”_

It _was_ Shaw, although it took him a good few seconds of squinting to tell. He was in normal clothes, soaked through with rain and clinging to every inch of him like a second skin. Did that mean he’d thrown on whatever he could find and come running out into the rain? Flynn’s tiny heart did a little flutter at the thought, far fetched as it likely was, and he stood tall on his toes. His tail couldn’t quite curl in its current state, but it did shake a bit, which he had not told it to do.

“Flynn,” Shaw huffed, coming to a stop and bending down to brace his hands on his knees. He was breathing hard, and his copper hair was flattened to his head, along with his mustache. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve been looking all over the harbor for you.”

 _“Nowhere good,”_ was all Flynn said. _“Shaw, please, take me back to the ship.”_ He was in no mood to be proud; after all he’d been through that evening, his only concern was finding a warm, dry place to sleep. And some chicken.

“Alright,” Shaw said. He bent down to pick him up, scooping Flynn into his arms to hold him against his chest. “You’re really drenched, aren’t you. And you smell like…” He gave Flynn a sniff and _did_ gag. “Light help me, Fairwind, you smell like a piss trough at the Darkmoon Faire!” He promptly opened his arms and dropped Flynn back on the ground, which was rude.

 _“It’s not as though I had a choice in the matter,”_ Flynn complained.

“What happened?”

_“No one wants to go outside in the rain, Shaw. Not even to answer the call of nature.”_

Shaw pulled a face that wasn’t quite sympathy. “Ah. Well, you will definitely have to be cleaned before you can come aboard.”

 _“I really doubt Wyrmbane will mind. Can he even smell anything inside that helm of his?”_ Flynn liked to imagine he slept in it.

“I mind, Flynn.”

 _“Well, there’s a bucket aboard the_ Middenwake _,”_ Flynn said with a sigh. _“Suppose we could fashion a bath out of that.”_

Shaw started to walk in the direction of the ship. He stopped and turned around when he realized Flynn wasn’t following. “What?”

_“You aren’t going to ask what the bucket’s used for?”_

“Do I want to?”

Flynn flicked his tail back and forth, sending fat water droplets flying in either direction. _“Probably not,”_ he said.

  
Shaw was able to make the leap to the deck of the _Middenwake_ , which was an enormous relief for Flynn. Despite his complaints about the smell, he had also willingly held Flynn in his arms to carry him across. That made up for dropping him on the ground, at least, even if it didn’t quite soothe his wounded pride.

 _“That shirt’s ruined, I reckon,”_ Flynn said as he watched Shaw pick the lock on the hold.

“I have plenty.”

_“Really? Wouldn’t take you for the sort to own… things. Then again, I’ve only ever seen you wear one set of armor.”_

“Generally speaking, that armor is all I need.” The lock popped open, and Shaw pushed the door aside for Flynn to enter. “You won’t mind the floor of the hold getting wet?”

 _“Not like it’s the first or the worst thing to end up on the boards of this ship,”_ Flynn said offhandedly. He sniffed around, poking into all the nooks and crannies (and junk) of the hold until he found the bucket. _“Here.”_

Shaw looked from the bucket to Flynn. “This should fit you.” 

_“I imagine it would, since I’m roughly the size of a bread loaf. Now all we need is some clean water.”_

“There is more than enough water outside, I’d say.” Shaw carried the bucket back out to the main deck and set it down beneath some of the rigging. It had formed a sort of funnel, channeling the water into one place. “You can tell me about your night while we wait for that to fill up,” he said.

They found comfortable enough seating in the hold, and Flynn began weaving the tale of his sordid adventures on the rough streets of Boralus. He only left out the bit about running into Taelia and Galeheart and pining for the safety of Shaw’s cabin. It didn’t seem relevant. _“You should dock that man’s pay,”_ he said, circling back around to the 7th Legion sailor who had given him the boot.

Shaw didn’t answer right away. He seemed to be distracted by something, and his attention had wandered far from their conversation. Just when Flynn was about to ask if he was even listening, Shaw said, “You need a collar.”

_“Pardon?”_

“A collar. Something to indicate who you belong to.”

 _“I must’ve gotten some pee in my ears, because I thought you just suggested that I belonged to you,”_ Flynn said sarcastically. _“And that couldn’t be what you said, because that would be crazy. And rude. And possibly grounds for a good scratching.”_

“You don’t belong to me, Flynn, but the others aboard the _Wind’s Redemption_ need to think you do. Unless you would like to be confined to my cabin at all times when you’re not with me?”

 _“No, that sounds miserable,”_ Flynn admitted. _“But a collar? Shaw, really?”_

“I promise it will be tasteful.”

Flynn groaned. _“I don’t even get a say in what it looks like? Because I would not go with tasteful if given the choice.”_ Although, he supposed it would be a rather strange sight, a human consulting with a cat over its collar. But there were some odd folks in Boralus. Maybe it wouldn’t be that strange after all.

Shaw stood, uselessly brushing dust off his still-damp backside. “The bucket should be full by now,” he said.

Flynn popped up onto his feet. _“If memory serves, there’s a bar of soap around here somewhere. I’ll sniff it out while you do that.”_

He managed to locate the soap right away, and along with it he found some clean rags and what he thought was probably a brush meant for cleaning shoes. It didn’t quite look clean. Still, it could prove useful.

 _“So I don’t have to drip-dry,”_ he explained when Shaw arched a brow at the small pile of objects he had amassed.

Shaw nodded. “Well, hop in,” he said. He gestured to the cat-sized tub.

Flynn padded up to the edge of the bucket and sniffed the water. Smelled like rain, rather than anything that had been in the bucket previously. That was encouraging. He reached a paw up over the lip and tapped the surface of the water.

“What are you doing?” Shaw asked.

_“It’s cold.”_

“Of course it’s cold, it’s rain.”

 _“Sort of wish we had a way to heat it,”_ Flynn muttered. _“Never a mage around when you need one, is there. Oh! You have mages aboard the_ Redemption _, don’t you?”_ He looked up at Shaw with hopeful eyes, but the depth of his scowl said that was a dead end. _“Fine, fine. I’ll just take a cold bath. After being out in the frigid rain. Alone. Hungry. Mistreated.”_

“Flynn.”

 _“Oh, alright. Here goes.”_ He hopped into the tub and immediately hopped right back out. _“Nope. No. That will not be happening.”_

Shaw pinched the bridge of his nose. “You have taken baths before, I assume.”

 _“This is different!”_ Flynn insisted without actually knowing why.

“Because you’re a cat?”

 _“Because I’m… not sure. Possibly. Probably. Shaw, can’t you just_ — _whoa, no! What are you doing?!”_

He flailed and hissed as Shaw picked him up and pushed him into the tub, fully immersing him up to his neck in cold water.

 _“This is the worst thing you’ve ever done!”_ he screamed.

“It’s no picnic for me either, Fairwind, stop struggling!”

It was wholly unfair that Shaw could hold him down with just one hand on his back while he reached for the bar of soap. Flynn couldn’t even twist to get his claws on the arm that was pinning him—not that he specifically wanted to, but his feline instincts were there again, shouting at him to break free by any means necessary. Those means just happened to be the thorough shredding of Shaw’s flesh.

“If you bite me—” Shaw growled.

 _“I wouldn’t test me, Shaw! I’ve been out and about all night, who knows what I’ve been up to! Try explaining_ that _nasty infection to the healers!”_

“I am trying to help you!”

_“You are trying to drown me!”_

He managed to get his claws up on the sides of the bucket, but his back legs wouldn’t cooperate. They kept slipping down into the water, and Shaw was taking full advantage of it, pinning him at the shoulders knowing he could only flail uselessly that way. “I’m almost done,” he said in a voice Flynn was sure he’d heard reserved for life-or-death situations in the past.

 _“You’ve gotten everything!”_ Flynn shouted. He rabbit-kicked at Shaw with his back leg when he tried to rub it down with soap.

“Not your head,” Shaw said solemnly.

Flynn froze.

_“No. Shaw. No.”_

“You were soaked, you have to be washed.”

 _“The rain cleaned me, I’m fine!”_ Flynn pleaded. _“Look, I’ll clean myself, I promise! Shaw!”_

What little he caught of Shaw’s face showed him nothing but a determined scowl. Well, at least it wasn’t glee. It didn’t actually make the horror of being shoved down under the water and scrubbed clean any easier, but it did help to know that at least the bastard wasn’t enjoying it. 

“Hold your breath,” Shaw said. That was all the warning Flynn received before he was promptly dunked under the water. To Shaw’s credit, it really did only last a second. Maybe not even that. But the way Flynn reacted, it may as well have been an hour.

 _“SOMEONE HELP!”_ he screamed, _“HE’S TRYING TO KILL ME!”_

“No one can understand you, would you calm down?” Shaw scrubbed furiously, digging in behind Flynn’s ears and along the top of his head. He even made sure to massage his cheeks and the sides of his face where his whiskers were. Flynn tried very hard to ignore how good some of it felt. It was like being vigorously petted and scratched at the same time. Shaw reached his chin, and Flynn couldn’t help but lift his head to give him better access. “There,” he said, smoothing soap down the length of Flynn’s throat. “It’s not so bad, is it?”

_“Depends. Are you going to dunk me again?”_

“Not unless I have to. I can just scoop the water over your head if you cooperate and sit still,” Shaw said. He sounded exhausted, which Flynn found ridiculous and a little offensive. He wasn’t the one who had been fighting for his life for a good… 

_“How long did that take?”_ Flynn asked.

“About six minutes.”

Huh.

_“Well, it felt much longer.”_

  
After they were through, and Shaw had give him a quick pat-down with the rags, Flynn settled himself atop an empty barrel to dry. He had decided not to bother with the brush, and Shaw hadn’t offered to groom him. It seemed they were both truly done with the business of getting him clean.

Outside the ship, the rain was still lashing the harbor. Flynn slowly combed through his fur with his tongue, which apparently acted as its own brush—very handy—while Shaw took a quick nap wedged up against some crates. With his keen eyes, Flynn could see the steady rise and fall of his chest, moving like a slow beat set to a frantic chorus. It was almost soothing to watch, and he found himself struck with a strange and powerful urge to curl up in Shaw’s unguarded lap. But then Shaw would probably actually drown him.

Suddenly, one bright green eye cracked open, and Shaw smirked. “Your tongue is out again.”

 _“Oh_ — _damn it all, I can’t even tell. What a pain this is. You’ll have to be on tongue watch for me, Shaw.”_

Shaw only snorted. He snugged his arms tighter around his chest and snuggled into the very uncomfortable looking corner he had claimed. He shut his eyes again, and was very shortly asleep.

Now that Flynn looked closely, he could see that Shaw had dark circles under his eyes. He had also noticed that Shaw seemed rather weary before the bath. Had he been awake all night? Surely it wouldn’t have taken him that long to search the area around the harbor. But what else could it be? Flynn tried to imagine Shaw lying in his bunk aboard the _Wind’s Redemption_ , tossing and turning, wracked with guilt for ejecting Flynn from his cabin. It didn’t feel as validating as he’d hoped it would.

Without thinking, Flynn hopped down from the barrel and tapped his way across the hold. He watched Shaw for just a moment, wondering if curling up next to him would wake him up. It seemed he needed the sleep. But the rise and fall of his chest remained steady, and he didn’t stir as Flynn curled up on his side in the crook of his knee.

Flynn was just drifting off when warm, strong hands closed around him and picked him up from the floor of the hold. Shaw pulled Flynn into his lap and covered him with one palm as he gently scratched his ears and neck with his other hand. It was warm and soothing, and though he hadn’t felt tired, Flynn began to drift off, slowly fading into the muzzy warmth of the hold and the body beneath him. The last thing he was aware of was Shaw’s fingers falling slack, and the soft sound of his breath as he slipped back into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only this was the worst thing I had planned.
> 
> Please check out [this beautiful art](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3b5c28dd2e741de0f3a692385ce13bb9/08fc19da93421f23-cd/s500x750/873dae4768752350ee0ae6396c44d162d585e2fb.png) by Yarfenka ([xcosmicreaver](https://xcosmicreaver.tumblr.com/))!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finishing up two other fics this week, so I'm hoping new chapters of this fic won't take as long anymore.

Flynn hopped from the fence post to the back of the horse and settled down on its rump. Luckily, the animal didn’t seem to mind. It simply swung its great head around and took a long look at him, then resumed picking at grass.

“We need to make a quick stop before we set out,” Shaw said. He was tying a blanket roll to the saddle. It made the loose cuffs of his linen shirt sway back and forth, providing a very tempting target for eager claws. As Flynn watched, he checked and then re-checked all the buckles on the saddlebags.

 _“As if I have any choice in the matter,”_ Flynn muttered, slightly distracted. _“Why are you so worried about your bags, anyway? Afraid your vast collection of shirts will fall out along the road?”_ He chuckled to himself and licked his paw to groom the top of his head. If Shaw thought he planned to let go of that little tidbit any time soon, he was wildly mistaken.

Shaw, in an uncharacteristic and rather disappointing show of apathy, simply shrugged. He slipped his foot into the stirrup and hauled himself up into the saddle.

Somehow, without sharing the details of his trip or its purpose with Cyrus, Shaw had managed to enlist the harbormaster’s aid in procuring a means of transportation for their journey to Stormsong Valley. The horse, on loan from a stable in Hook Point, was a remarkably calm chestnut gelding called Caper. Flynn thought the name was rather fitting. Shaw had just rolled his eyes.

With a click of his tongue, Shaw set Caper to a slow walk. Flynn had to shift a bit, but keeping his balance atop the much larger animal proved fairly simple once he adjusted to it. A bit like getting his sea legs as a boy, only now he had four of them. He just had to remember not to hold on with his claws.

They were only a short distance from the stable when Shaw abruptly pulled the horse to a stop again. “Wait here,” he said to Flynn as he dismounted smoothly and looped the reins around a fence post.

_“Why?”_

“Because I told you to.”

Flynn scoffed and flicked his tail irritably. Caper snorted.

The shop they had stopped at appeared to be a fairly nondescript supply store. Flynn had to look around to find some indication of exactly what it was they sold. His eyes fell upon several monogrammed and engraved bowls, tiny clothes, and a vast assortment of toys just inside the door, and he gasped.

 _“This is a pet store!”_ he shouted, standing up on all fours and arching in a fit of anger. _“Shaw! Shaw, get out here! You are not buying me pet supplies, you bastard!”_

If Shaw could hear him, he ignored Flynn’s complaints.

 _“Unbelievable,”_ Flynn muttered. He settled back down on his haunches and curled his tail around his feet in offense. _“The nerve.”_

Caper threw his head and snorted again. Flynn decided to take it for support.

 _“Maybe you could throw him when we’re near a nice big puddle, eh?”_ he suggested to the horse. _“Wait til I’m off, of course. Four-legged solidarity and all that.”_

* * *

_“It itches, Shaw.”_

“It doesn’t itch.”

_“Yes it does!”_

Shaw sighed and attempted to tune out the incessant whining that had occupied his mind for the better part of the ride into Stormsong. Unfortunately, whatever magic made it so that he alone could hear Flynn didn’t seem to have also accounted for how much the man could talk. “It’s a very nice collar,” he tried to offer, hoping that might take Flynn’s mind off his discomfort. It seemed to work, though Shaw had no illusions the change of subject was anything but temporary.

 _“Honestly, I half expected blue and gold,”_ Flynn said. _“Rather impressed by your restraint. You Alliance seem to love branding everything you can with those colors. Nothing says ‘I’m here for the very crucial stealth mission’ like flying the lion of Stormwind high and bright.”_

“You’re in a mood today,” Shaw said without thinking. He sighed at himself when he felt Flynn wind up for the inevitable bevy of complaints that were sure to follow.

As expected, Flynn immediately countered with, _“I wonder why that is? Let’s think about it, shall we? To start with, I’m itchy—yes, it itches—as well as bloody hot. Do you even realize just how much fur I have packed onto this little body?”_

“I have had my fingers in it.”

Flynn made an indignant sound. _“What’s that supposed to mean?”_ he demanded. Shaw could hear him flicking his tail back and forth, the swish of it occasionally brushing his back. _“I’m thirsty, too. Did you bring any water?”_

Shaw unhooked his canteen from the saddle and held it up, giving it a quick shake to make the water inside slosh back and forth.

 _“Stellar. And just how am I supposed to drink it?”_ Flynn asked. _“No thumbs.”_

The question made him grimace uncomfortably; he hadn’t ever considered how he would actually provide the water to Flynn. “I suppose I could cup my hands, and you—”

 _“Let me stop you there, because I am not drinking water out of your hands. Bad enough you’ve got me wearing this blasted thing.”_ Shaw heard some muttered cursing behind him, followed by the repetitive _tink-tink_ of claws scratching at the collar’s metal buckle.

“You’re going to ruin it,” he said. Not that he would ever tell Flynn, but the collar hadn’t exactly come cheap. It was a rush order, placed just that morning, and he had paid accordingly. Sea green leather, which he supposed had been the maker’s take on _‘something to remind him of the water.’_ That request had earned him a curious look, as well as a small surcharge, but he’d played it off as though there was nothing strange about being sentimental on behalf of a cat.

 _“It’s itchy!”_ Flynn wailed. _“And was the tag really necessary?”_

By itself, a collar didn’t do much besides indicate that he belonged to someone. The tag, stamped for Shaw by a smith just after he placed the order for the collar, simply read _Flynn_ on one side, and _Return to M. Shaw_ on the other. Luckily for him, Flynn didn’t have the necessary dexterity to turn it over, or else Shaw was certain he would be hearing about that for days.

“It won’t matter that you have a collar if no one can tell you’re m—” He stopped himself and pressed his lips together, humming out the rest of the word and shaking his head as though he could undo having made the first sound that way.

_“Sorry? Care to run that by me again? I’m whose?”_

Shaw sighed. “Mine, Flynn. For all intents and purposes, you’re mine.” He made a vague gesture, trying to counter Flynn’s righteous indignation before it really got going. “At least, that’s what we need everyone to think. I know it’s inconvenient and annoying, but it’s better than losing you.” A wave of heat abruptly rose beneath his skin, and he cleared his throat. “Losing track of you.”

Flynn became quiet after that, and Shaw decided to let the matter rest. He knew that there was nothing convenient or comfortable about this curse, and that in just two short days, Flynn had dealt with more than his fair share of woes. His intention had only ever been to protect him, and, with any luck, keep him alive until they could find a solution. Regardless, given the circumstances and what he knew of Flynn’s past, he could see how that protection might actually be making things worse. Flynn had very little control over his life at the moment. A collar certainly wouldn’t help with that feeling.

He was just about to apologize and offer to remove the collar when he felt a resigned and tired little sigh behind him. _“Sorry,”_ Flynn said. _“It’s just been a bit trying, as you may have gathered. It is also distinctly possible that I need to get more sleep than I have been. Cat naps and all that. To your credit, you did warn me.”_

“You could take a nap now if you wanted,” Shaw offered. “I’ll wake you when we reach Brennadam.”

He could feel the weariness in Flynn’s words when he said, _“No good. I don’t trust myself not to fall off the horse. I’m so small you’d never notice I was gone.”_

That was a legitimate concern, in Shaw’s opinion. He considered suggesting that he would be able to hear Flynn shouting for him if it happened, but after what the man had been through already, it seemed unfair to ask him to tolerate being dumped in the road and retrieved again like a lost package. There was one other option that would allow him to get some rest, but Shaw hesitated to offer. Then he considered the night before, and how soundly Flynn had slept while curled up in his lap.

“You could come up here,” he said.

Flynn hesitated before he asked, _“With you?”_ Shaw hummed an affirmative, and Flynn seemed to balk at it. _“Well that’s… You don’t have much of a lap at the moment,”_ he pointed out.

“You don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.”

 _“No, I will. As long as you’re offering, right?”_ Shaw felt a paw push against his side and then quickly withdraw again. _“How do I…”_

“Here.” He twisted around and scooped Flynn up with one hand, pulling him into his lap and placing him in the dip between his body and the pommel. “Get comfortable.”

Flynn rearranged himself so that he was more or less curled up between Shaw’s legs. He put his paws up over the edge of the pommel and set his head down. _“This isn’t half bad,”_ he said.

“I’m glad. Get some sleep.”

Flynn hummed in agreement and Shaw felt the fatigue that came with the soft sound of it. He kept Caper at a slow, steady walk, watching for dips in the road ahead that might jostle the ride and unsettle Flynn. A part of him wanted to reach down and stroke the fur at the nape of Flynn’s neck, but he held back. Instead, he tightened his grip on the reins, and kept his focus on the road before them. Flynn needed the rest, anyway.

  
Flynn had only been asleep for an hour or so when Shaw spotted another traveler in the distance. A man in several layers of purple, blue, and orange robes was riding toward them, his mule’s saddlebags packed nearly to bursting beneath several carefully tied crates. Two cages hung from the animal’s side, one containing a large seagull, and the other a weasel of some sort. The traveler moved to one side of the road to make room, ignoring Shaw as they approached one another. Shaw thought nothing of it until the man drew near and his eyes widened in surprise.

“That’s a fine cat you’ve got there,” he said, bringing his mule to a stop. His accent was Kul Tiran, and Shaw placed it somewhere around eastern Drustvar.

Shaw brought Caper to a stop as gently as he could manage, but Flynn still stirred in the hollow of the saddle. He sat up, his thoughts as bleary as his eyes. _“Wha?”_ he managed.

There was nothing obvious about the man—a mage, judging from the arcane symbols scrawled on the cover of his spell book—that should have made the hairs on the back of Shaw’s neck stand on end. He appeared completely normal in every way, perhaps apart from his strange taste in clothes. His long black hair was tied into a neat tail, and his blue eyes were sharp yet friendly. He had the same broad build as most Kul Tirans, though he wasn’t as bulky as some tended to be. Quite a handsome man, overall. Still, there was something about him. Something off in a way Shaw couldn’t put a name to.

 _“Why’re we stopped?”_ Flynn asked groggily. He yawned, baring all his many little teeth, and stretched so hard that he stumbled sideways against Shaw. _“Sorry.”_

“Thank you,” Shaw said, not wanting to appear rude before the mage. “That’s a fine… mule.”

The mage laughed. “He suits my purposes well enough.” He gave the mule’s neck a gentle pat, and the animal turned its head to look at him.

“Seems a little overburdened.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve lightened the load with a spell,” the mage said excitedly. He hitched a thumb over his shoulder with a grin, as though he was pleased to have the opportunity to share his cleverness with someone. He was young, and seemed to lack the air of superiority that was common of so many mages Shaw had met in the past. Definitely not Kirin Tor, then.

Shaw nodded. It didn’t seem there was any reason to delay further. “Well, then, good day—”

“Don’t suppose you’d be willing to sell it?”

Flynn’s ears perked up. _“Sell what?”_

“Sell?” Shaw asked.

“Your cat. It’s a truly fine animal.”

Shaw narrowed his eyes, and the mage quickly put his hands up. “Not for anything nefarious, you have my word! It’s just that your lovely cat reminds me so much of a beloved childhood pet of mine. Name was Pip. Best mouser in Carver’s Harbor.”

Only a bit of nostalgia, then. Shaw relax a bit, keeping a wary eye on the mage as his mule shifted its weight from one side to the other. His placid smile never wavered.

 _“You are_ not _selling me,”_ Flynn insisted.

Shaw smirked; he really couldn’t help himself when it came to Flynn Fairwind. “How much?” he asked.

The mage’s eyes lit up, along with his smile. “Five gold?”

“Quite the offer for a cat.”

_“Shaw! Don’t you dare!”_

With a shrug, the mage said, “Pip’s memory is worth it.”

The caged gull suddenly let out a terrible shriek. Caper danced to the side a few steps, whinnying nervously, his eyes gone so wide that the whites were showing. Shaw decided that was enough fun at Flynn’s expense for one day. He was willing to believe that he’d possibly mistaken his impression of the mage, but animals didn’t have preconceived notions.

Well, with one possible exception.

“Your offer is kind,” he said, inclining his head respectfully, “but I’m afraid I’ve grown too attached to him.”

_“Damn right you have.”_

“That’s a shame,” the mage replied. He sounded genuinely saddened, but there was something else beneath it, something that struck that same note of warning that raised the hairs on the back of Shaw’s neck. “Well, I suppose I ought to get this load of supplies back to Tiragarde,” he said. He tipped his head and smiled. Shaw couldn’t help but notice that his eyes remained with Flynn the whole time. “Good day, gentlemen.”

* * *

“I wouldn’t have sold you.”

They had been circling the matter of Shaw’s attempt at ‘humor’ since the encounter with the strange man and his poor mule. Flynn _tsked_ dramatically. _“I saw the look in your eyes when he offered you five gold—a pitiful sum, by the way. You could have gotten fifteen easily. Where is your pride, man?”_

“Did you want me to sell you or not?” Shaw asked. He had one hand on the reins, the other wrapped around Flynn’s chest to hold him in place on the saddle. He was idly scratching the jut of Flynn’s breastbone as they rode. Caper bounced along at a brisk trot; they were losing daylight fast, and Brennadam was still a ways off. “It sounds like you would have preferred that I did, as long as I got the right price for it.”

Of course, Flynn had known all along that Shaw wasn’t serious, but that didn’t really matter to him. He simply enjoyed getting under the spymaster’s skin. When it was all stripped down to the bare bones, he trusted Shaw with his life, and knew the man would sooner be robbed of every possession and scrap of coin on his person than hand over him to a stranger. Though he didn’t know _how_ he knew it, exactly. Maybe it was all the times he had pulled Flynn from the fray and saved his hide in the past. Maybe it was the way Shaw’s fingers had dug into his fur and held tight when the stranger had asked to buy him. One guess was as good as another, really. What mattered was that even as he’d played at entertaining an offer, Shaw had been pulling Flynn closer.

Still, Flynn found himself wondering how Shaw could have known there was something wrong to ever worry about it. His own heightened senses had picked up on the nervous edge to the man’s scent (how he’d known it was nerves he’d never guess), and the rapid, frightful beat of his heart. But Shaw didn’t have those. Flynn refused to accept he was just that good at his job. His own pride simply wouldn’t allow for it.

 _“Well,”_ he replied, _“if you’re going to sell me off, you might as well make as much as you can.”_

“I wouldn’t have sold you,” Shaw repeated. He paused, and there was a smile in his voice when he added, “Though, I suppose we could have split the profits if I had.”

_“Brilliant. Exactly how am I supposed to make use of gold when I’m back in Tiragarde with some strange man, being called Pip Two or some such nonsense?”_

“Are you saying you couldn’t have escaped?”

Flynn felt the fur on his back stand up in offense. _“To think that I might—that you would even ask such a question! I’m offended!”_

Shaw—purposely, Flynn assumed—handily ignored his outburst and said, “I believe you’re underestimating the potential benefits of this arrangement, Captain. I sell you off and take the gold, you escape and come back. Repeat that often enough and we could net ourselves a tidy sum.”

The man really did have an abominably bad sense of humor. Flynn cocked his ears back. _“Crown’s not paying what it used to, I take it?”_

He heard a light snicker above him. “The crown pays just fine,” Shaw muttered. He was still idly scratching Flynn’s chest. And smiling.

  
They reached Brennadam just before dark, with the last light of the red-orange sun lying low on the horizon. The tidy village square around them was mostly empty, save for a few passing travelers and some of the locals shutting up shop for the evening. Flynn watched them come and go with the detached interest of a cat, and they paid him no mind, assuming he was exactly as he seemed. He couldn’t really blame them.

Shaw had left him on Caper’s back and jogged up the short steps into the inn to pay for their room. He returned a few minutes later, key in hand.

“You’re in luck,” he said. “The innkeeper is fond of cats.”

 _“What was the alternative?”_ Flynn asked.

“The barn, I assume.”

_“Ah, well, that’s fortunate, then. I wager you would have been rather uncomfortable sleeping in straw.”_

“You, Flynn. You would have been sleeping in the barn.”

Flynn made a disgusted sound and flicked his tail.

“So it’s good enough for the horse, but not good enough for you?” Shaw asked, trying to hide a lopsided smile. He took Caper’s lead and drew him over to a small paddock around the back of the inn. “Don’t you usually sleep in a hammock?”

_“Oh, I’ve slept in much worse than a hammock—or a barn. But I’m suffering here, Shaw. I deserve a nice warm room to curl up in.”_

Shaw snorted. “You can only play on my sympathy for so long, you know.”

_“They dumped pee on me.”_

“Light help me,” Shaw complained. “How do I shut you up?”

Flynn hopped down from the horse’s back and bounced through the straw to where Shaw was busy unpacking the saddlebags. _“Food,”_ he said.

“Is that your answer, or a demand?”

_“Oh, Mathias Shaw, you truly are a simple creature.”_

Shaw dropped his arms to his sides and sighed. “Both, then?”

_“Of course.”_

* * *

  
After they finished dinner, Shaw left the inn and set off in search of Brother Pike. He had originally intended to leave Flynn behind in the room, but made the mistake of also leaving a window cracked to let in the night air. Flynn, taking full advantage of his ability to fit through small spaces and leap nimbly from one place to another, had simply slipped down the eaves and dropped to the ground from a modest height, landing in the road a few feet from where Shaw was standing.

“Why do you do this?” Shaw asked wearily.

Flynn flicked his tail back and forth in the light of a street lamp. _“You can collar me and ply me with chicken, but you will not lull me into obedience, Spymaster. So, where’s Pike?”_

Shaw decided it was pointless to argue; Flynn would get his way, he always seemed to. “My sources tell me he’s been staying with the local tidesage. It’s just across the river,” he said, pointing to a small wooden bridge up ahead through the darkness. The road between the two halves of the village was lit to provide a safe path for the townspeople, but the lamps cast everything around them into deep shadow. It made Shaw inexplicably nervous. Oblivious to the potential danger, Flynn padded along beside him, tail up and a happy bounce to his step.

Most of Brennadam had been gutted by the Horde early on in the war, but owing to the swift efforts of the Alliance and the sheer determination of the locals, the village had been rebuilt in a matter of months. Their resident tidesage, whom Shaw had learned was named Sandersen, lived on the outskirts, where many of the original buildings had survived the Horde’s aerial bombardment. It seemed Brother Pike had begun making frequent trips to Stormsong following the events that transpired in nearby Sagehold, and the subsequent corruption that swept the ranks of the tidesages. Each time he did, he stayed with Sandersen. Fortunately for them, it made tracking him down that much easier.

 _“These sources,”_ Flynn said, _“they wouldn’t happen to be everyday, run-of-the-mill couriers, would they?”_

“That depends on why you’re asking.”

 _“No reason. You make it sound so clandestine is all. Like you’re consulting a network of spies to find one old man in a robe.”_ Shaw could feel his amusement, although there was also genuine curiosity in there as well.

“People can be difficult to find,” he said somewhat vaguely. However much he liked Flynn Fairwind, he had no intention of revealing every single source of information he had at his disposal. Knowing Flynn, he would start using them to ferry nonsense messages back to Shaw’s desk.

Flynn gave a sort of mental shrug. It was a gesture that had become disturbingly familiar in two short days. _“You’d be amazed how many times I’ve accidentally stumbled upon the exact person I was looking for,”_ he said. _“People are only as hard to find as you make them.”_

“That doesn’t mean anything. Are you just talking to hear yourself talk?”

They turned up a narrow lane between houses, coming to a small square lit by the flickering lights of the homes around it. At the far end sat a quaint little cottage, and on the cottage’s porch, smoking a pipe, was Brother Sandersen.

 _“I think I’ve made my point,”_ Flynn said smugly.

“He’s in his own home, that had nothing to do with you. Try to stay quiet while I do the work to get you changed back into a human.” Hopefully, anyway.

_“Churlish. You act as though you’re not having the time of your life.”_

“Yes, it’s a real adventure,” Shaw muttered. He raised a hand in greeting. “Good evening,” he called out. “Brother Sandersen?”

“You’re that fellow come from Boralus, eh?” Sandersen said, rather than offering his own greeting in return. He pulled the pipe from his mouth and tapped the empty seat beside him. “Caught word you’d be stopping by. Have a seat.”

Shaw had no real desire to sit, especially with the smoke billowing from the tidesage with every puff of his pipe, but he didn’t want to be rude. He climbed the steps up to the porch and sat down. The wooden chairs were deeper than they looked, and he slid back until he felt his heels lift from the ground beneath him. Flynn, predictably, jumped right up into his lap and settled himself comfortably.

“I hope that’s your cat,” Sandersen said, raising an eyebrow.

“It is,” Shaw replied. He winced when Flynn’s claws extended, digging into the flesh of his leg.

 _“Watch it with the_ it _, mate,”_ Flynn warned.

Shaw cleared his throat. “He is.”

Sandersen merely grunted and returned to puffing his pipe. He didn’t seem to note or care about the correction.

After a moment, when it became clear Sandersen was not going to ask him why he was there, Shaw said, “I’ve come to speak with Brother Pike. I was told he’s been staying with you.”

“Aye,” Sandersen answered. “Been here since planting day. He’s making the rounds now, though.”

“The rounds?”

“Visiting all the towns and villages in the valley. Doing his part to make certain that darkness what befell the order doesn’t happen again. Can’t be allowed.” He said it with a sagely nod, as though that simply settled the matter.

“Do you know when he might return?” Shaw asked.

Sandersen looked up, searching for something in the dark sky above them. “Tomorrow, most likely.”

 _Most likely_ wasn’t much to go on, but it seemed like it was the best they were going to get. He blew out a long sigh and pulled his fingers from the nape of Flynn’s neck, startling himself—when had he even started scratching him? “Would you be willing to give him a message for me?”

“Not much else to do ‘round here.”

Shaw hesitated. He supposed that was a yes. “Could you let him know that Mathias Shaw is staying at the Golden Flagon, and would like to speak with him as soon as possible?”

Sandersen’s eyebrows slowly crawled up the long length of his forehead at Shaw’s name. “Spymaster of the Alliance, eh?”

“How—”

“Son, Kul Tiras is crawling with sages. You can’t set foot on a dock without someone knowing you’re there, why, and what your name is. And that’s just for starters.”

 _“You should see your face right now,”_ Flynn snickered. _“You really do think you’re the only one with a network of informants, don’t you.”_

“A bit humbling,” Shaw admitted, both to Flynn and Sandersen. “Your help is appreciated.”

“Aye,” Sandersen agreed somewhat gruffly. He returned to smoking his pipe and staring out at nothing in the night. That seemed to be the end of their conversation.

Shaw hauled himself out of the deep trench of the chair, _accidentally_ dumping Flynn on the ground in the process. The complaints about that started immediately and didn’t stop until Shaw had said his goodbyes to the elderly tidesage and joined Flynn out in the square. “Are you finished?” he asked when they were away from Sandersen.

_“Not quite. Unrelated thought: you should carry me.”_

“You cannot possibly be that tired.” They made their way back along the lamplit street to the bridge, and there Flynn hopped up onto the railing, bringing him closer to Shaw’s eye level. Shaw stopped and turned to him. “It’s a five minute walk, Fairwind.”

 _“I’m not tired,”_ Flynn said.

“Then why do you need to be carried?”

 _“It’s nice,”_ was all Flynn said. There was no attempt at deception in his answer, no feeling of amusement to suggest he was playing Shaw for a fool. He simply wanted to be picked up and carried. It was so unexpected that Shaw could only blink at him.

_“‘Cat got your tongue’ seems too easy.”_

“Sorry, uh,” Shaw stammered. He reached out only a bit awkwardly and lifted Flynn from the railing, bringing him close to his chest with his hands under his back legs. Flynn put his front paws up on Shaw’s shoulder, and suddenly there was a small face butting against the side of his head, filling his left ear with a deep, rumbling purr. “Fairwind?”

 _“Apologies,”_ Flynn said, embarrassed. _“I got a bit carried away there, didn’t I? Another one of those odd urges that seem to come along with being a cat. You’re still going to carry me, though, yes?”_

Shaw nodded. He hefted Flynn a bit higher on his shoulder and started walking back to the inn. It should have felt ridiculous, but he really didn’t mind. Flynn turned to watch where they were going, and it occurred to him that even though the shadows were deep and menacing around them, Flynn could still see whatever might lurk there. He could smell whoever was approaching, and hear their footsteps. He was at ease because there was nothing to worry about. It was strangely comforting.

_“Could you imagine doing this with those ridiculous leather pauldrons you wear?” Flynn asked._

He tried to picture it, but the image his mind produced was so ridiculous that he could only grin like a fool. Evidently, Flynn picked up on his amusement.

_“I’ll have to come up with some sort of workaround for the times you’ve got no choice but to wear your armor.”_

“Like walking?”

  
Back at the inn, Shaw changed out of his clothes and stepped into the warm bath with a sigh of contentment borne of spending the day on horseback. He let his head fall back against the edge of the wooden tub and closed his eyes.

_“Looks relaxing.”_

He frowned. It wasn’t often he had the luxury of an actual bath, and being interrupted by a bored pirate-turned-housecat wasn’t ideal. “Generally.”

_“I’d ask if I could have a turn, but—”_

“I am never attempting to bathe you again,” he said, interrupting whatever Flynn was about to say. “If you want to jump in on your own, you are welcome to do so _after_ I’m finished. But I won’t be responsible for the consequences. I won’t help to dry you off, either.”

 _“Tongue’ll do fine,”_ Flynn said after a moment, as though he actually had to think about it following the disastrous attempt to bathe him the night before. He was sitting like a loaf of bread on the flat stones of the hearth, though no fire was going. It was warm enough in the room that Shaw hadn’t seen a need for one, and Flynn hadn’t asked. _“And before you point out that I said I would never lick myself clean, I will remind you that I frequently say things I don’t mean and change my mind at random. It’s part of my charm.”_

“At least you’re honest about it.”

Flynn promptly began grooming his fur, falling into silence as he worked, and Shaw let himself relax a bit more in the absence of any additional thoughts or feelings in his head. The water held him like a warm embrace, soothing his aching muscles a little at a time, and his mind started to wander. He found himself returning to the strange mage they had encountered on the road. What was it about him that had been so unsettling? Nothing in his outward appearance suggested any nefarious intentions, and yet Shaw hadn’t been able to shake his discomfort.

 _“Say, could I have one of those blankets tonight?”_ Flynn asked. The question pulled Shaw from his thoughts, and he frowned as he turned in the tub to look at the bed. It was piled with quilts of various sizes, and two very fluffy pillows. Flynn met his eye, and Shaw felt his embarrassment. _“Just to sleep on.”_

He remembered the guilt he’d felt, watching Flynn lying on the floor of his cabin, struggling with a nightmare. He also remembered the holes in his foot from where Flynn’s claws had torn into his flesh. It occurred to him that giving Flynn a place to sleep might prevent a repeat of the previous night’s events—and the regret that had come after. “Nonsense,” he said, settling back down in the water and closing his eyes. “You can sleep in the bed.”

_“And where will you sleep?”_

“In the bed.”

Flynn seemed to need a moment to process that. _“Alright,”_ he said slowly, _“but I should warn you, I snore.”_

Shaw chuckled to himself and muttered, “I highly doubt that a snoring cat will be enough to disturb me.”

_“If you’re sure…”_

“Trust me, I can sleep through it.”

  
Light help him, how could one small animal produce so much _noise?!_ “Flynn!” he hissed in the darkness. He poked the little furry body curled up against his side. “Roll over!”

 _“Not a dog,”_ Flynn mumbled. He continued snoring. It wasn’t like a man’s snore, which might have actually been tolerable, if not any better; it was a nasally, high-pitched whine of a sound, and it invaded Shaw’s senses until he couldn’t hear anything else. Twice already it had woken him, and he had learned very quickly that he couldn’t get back to sleep with the little whining drone of Flynn’s sinuses tucked against his side.

“So help me, Flynn Fairwind, if you don’t stop snoring, I will stuff you into a saddlebag and strap you to the horse.”

_“Wouldn’t fit.”_

Shaw stared at him in the darkness, his mouth hanging open. Was the man actually _arguing_ in his sleep?

With an angry huff, Shaw flopped onto his back and shut his eyes, trying to force himself to go back to sleep out of sheer spite. Beside him, Flynn stretched, and one furry paw caught Shaw on the chin, slowly curling into his hair. There was some more incoherent mumbling, and a happy, contented feeling from Flynn floated along with it.

Well, Shaw thought with a sigh, at least one of them was comfortable.

* * *

“Fascinating!”

Flynn cracked an eye open to find a strange man with a white beard crouched down beside the bed, staring at him.

 _“What in the bloody hell—!”_ He hissed and scrambled back across the bed, butting up against the pillows with his tail curled protectively against his hip. His tiny heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings in his breast.

“Flynn, this is Brother Pike,” Shaw said, appearing over the stranger’s shoulder.

 _“You might’ve warned me we had a visitor!”_ Flynn shouted. The tip of his tail flicked back and forth in agitation, though he relaxed somewhat now that he knew the identity of the face peering intently into his own.

“And you say that you alone can understand him?” Brother Pike asked Shaw. “Truly fascinating.”

“Do you know what might have caused it?” Shaw asked. He had his arms crossed over his chest, looking down on Flynn with a face that warned him to behave; the effect was somewhat diminished without his leather armor.

 _“A curse, mate,”_ Flynn said dryly. He had calmed down a bit since his rude awakening, though he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation. Then again, that was hardly anything new. _“We’ve been over this one.”_

“But what kind? We can’t begin to search for a cure without knowing what sort of magic transformed you in the first place.”

Pike stood up straight, rubbing at the small of his back with a frown. “If I’m being honest, Master Shaw, this doesn’t seem like the sort of enchantment one might seek a tidesage’s help to break. Our magic is tied to the sea, not the beasts that dwell beyond it.”

“But there have been several reports of transformations around Kul Tiras, and the corrupted sages—”

“Were transformed into k’thir by magics far more ancient and sinister than whatever it is that’s changed your friend.” Pike shrugged helplessly. “You won’t find your answers in the darkness that befell this order, I’m afraid.”

Shaw sighed and let his shoulders slump in defeat. It was a very human expression of frustration, and so in Flynn’s opinion it looked entirely unnatural on him. _“Chin up, Spymaster, we’ll keep searching,”_ he said.

But Shaw only grimaced and looked away from him. Flynn couldn’t tell if it was disdain or guilt, but why he should feel either was a mystery.

“Is he capable of understanding others?” Pike asked. He had returned to his careful examination of Flynn, which did not make Flynn feel the least bit comfortable. “Or is it only you?”

_“Tides, that would be a true nightmare.”_

“He can understand you,” Shaw answered. “And at present he is rather annoyed. You might want to back up.”

Pike stood up quickly. “Oh.” He looked down at Flynn. “My apologies, Captain Fairwind. I did not mean to treat you like some sort of specimen.”

Flynn felt that was untrue, but something else had caught his attention, and so he ignored Pike—and his apology—to focus on that little morsel instead. _“How did you know what I’m feeling?”_ he asked Shaw.

Shaw only shrugged lightly. “Lucky guess,” he said lightly, but there was something about it that didn’t ring true. Flynn watched the subtle shift of his weight from one foot to the other, the slight bob of his throat as he swallowed. He was lying. _Terribly_.

“I understand the difficulty of your situation,” Pike went on, oblivious to the sudden tension that had formed around him, “but at this point, I believe you will be best served by taking this matter directly to Lady Proudmoore. She will no doubt be much better equipped to assist the captain with his problem.”

Flynn remained distantly aware of the conversation, but all of his attention was on Shaw and his painfully obvious lie. He must have already figured that Flynn had every intention of demanding the truth the moment Pike left, which probably explained his piss-poor attempt at covering it up in the first place. Some spy.

Pike abruptly stopped talking, and the sudden lull in the conversation drew Flynn’s attention back to the present moment. He found the elderly tidesage thoughtfully stroking the white tuft of his beard, humming to himself as he contemplated something. Shaw, who was very pointedly _not_ looking at Flynn, seemed fascinated by whatever it was Pike hadn’t yet said.

“You may wish to consider turning your search in the direction of Drustvar,” Pike muttered thoughtfully. “I have heard of many strange tales of similar transformations among practitioners of dark magic in that region. Though, if the rumors are to be believed, they are of a sort that is far more twisted and grotesque than Captain Fairwind’s. Perhaps that is a small mercy.” He shook his head, and it was clear from the furrow of his brow that the very idea haunted him. “I believe the lord admiral has had far more experience with those practices than anyone in our order. She may know where to begin your search, and what to do if it comes to light that this curse is a result of some Drust ritual, though I pray that it is not.”

That was certainly ominous. Flynn said as much, only to be shushed by Shaw. _“Rude,”_ he complained.

“Thank you for your assistance, Brother Pike,” Shaw said, giving the tidesage a courteous nod.

“Given the tremendous help your Alliance has been to our beleaguered order, I could not refuse,” Pike answered. “I only wish I could have done more. Good luck with your search, Master Shaw.” He turned to regard Flynn with a kindly smile. “And with your predicament, Captain Fairwind.”

Flynn flicked his tail and swiveled his ears, but there wasn’t much else he could do; no sense thanking the man when he couldn’t hear him anyway. Shaw would just—

“He thanks you for your help,” Shaw said.

_“Did not!”_

Pike inclined his head and, with a barely-detectable shuffle through the small space of the rented room, exited quietly. It was no wonder Flynn hadn’t woken up when he first arrived, the man moved like a wraith.

Shaw frowned at him. “It’s common courtesy.”

 _“It’s putting words in my mouth is what it is.”_ However, as it happened, Shaw’s latest creative rendition of the truth segued nicely into the far more pressing subject. _“What are you hiding from me?”_ Flynn demanded. _“Cough it up, I noticed that little slip earlier.”_

Unease was as uncharacteristic on Shaw as obvious deception. He blew out a long sigh and scratched the back of his neck for several seconds, finally dropping into a seat beside the bed. “I can feel your thoughts,” he said plainly.

Flynn scoffed. _“Yes, that is commonly called a conversation. In our case, anyway. What about—”_

“No.” Shaw shook his head. “I can _feel_ them. When you’re angry, when you’re worried, I can feel those emotions in whatever it is you’re saying to me. It must be a part of the bond that allows you to communicate with me.”

It took a moment for Flynn to process what he was saying. _“So,”_ he began, standing up and plodding over to the edge of the bed to sit down on his haunches. It was the closest they could actually get to eye level. _“You’re telling me that I can’t lie to you.”_

“It seems unlikely, at least in your current state. Also, you should know it worries me that your first concern is the ability to deceive me.”

_“Please, pot and kettle, Spymaster. You’ve lied twice in ten minutes by my count. Why do you suppose you can tell how I’m feeling?”_

Another half-shrug, and a weary stretch from Shaw that made his shoulders pop. “I couldn’t begin to guess,” he said with a yawn. “Possibly it’s a sort of magical compensation for not actually hearing you.”

_“Well that’s just brilliant, isn’t it. You’ve got a built in truth serum, and I’m a cat.”_

“It isn’t so bad.”

 _“Yeah?”_ Flynn stood up and snapped his tail back and forth several times. He hated that he couldn’t control the damn thing. _“Why don't you tell me how I’m feeling right now.”_

Shaw frowned at him. It seemed he had the right idea.

 _“Exactly my point,”_ Flynn said with a sniff. He hopped down from the bed and made his way over to the door. _“Mind letting me out? I need some time to mull this over before I come back here and decide which of your things I’ll be using as my personal scratching post.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More [lovely art](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e6a613dbf5f308c87d382a545ba23337/08fc19da93421f23-e3/s500x750/1d4464ace857701e10ad2a5ec7015e7f52561ab4.png) by the extremely talented Yarfenka! ([xcosmicreaver](https://xcosmicreaver.tumblr.com/))


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags.

_“Is there anything else you’re keeping from me? Do you perhaps have some back pay from previous azerite hauls you’re withholding?”_

Shaw sighed and let his head fall back against the chair. They had been at this since breakfast. “No,” he said.

_“Figured I’d ask, is all. Evidently, if I’m not very specific in my questions, you see it as an excuse to lie to me.”_

“I didn’t volunteer the information. It’s not the same thing.”

 _“Oh! So says the_ spymaster! _I’m a bloody pirate and I’ve more integrity than that!”_

“You _were_ a pirate.”

_“Don’t change the subject!”_

He didn’t think Flynn was actually angry with him, or even the circumstances of their bond; it was more that he just wanted to be angry at something, and Shaw’s lie of omission had provided a perfect outlet. There was no reason to point that out, however, or to remind him that he was lashing out because he had no control over the rest of his life at the moment. Even if he didn’t already realize as much, he wouldn’t have wanted to hear it. Better to let him work through it on his own.

_“You know, I really thought you had my back. I thought we were mates.”_

Shaw did his best to ignore the strange way that made his throat tighten. “Flynn—”

_“Do you have any idea whatsoever how humiliating… how… how personal…”_

A knock at the door interrupted Flynn’s rant—and the destruction he was currently wreaking upon Shaw’s left boot, which Shaw fortunately wasn’t wearing—and his ears swiveled to the sound. He stood up from where he had been kicking at the side of the boot with his back paws and straightened out his fur with a quick shake.

Shaw crossed the room and opened the door to find Brother Sandersen waiting in the hall. “Spymaster,” he said, inclining his head quickly. “We need your help.”

 _“Just in time to spare you from a well-earned lecture,”_ Flynn groused.

“What’s the problem?” Shaw asked.

“A farm, just outside of town. Been sacked by bandits from what I’m told. Six or so. Fortunately, the family managed to escape and make it to town unharmed. The local militia has their hands full clearing out quilboar on the other side of the valley. A messenger’s been dispatched, but there is no way to tell when they will arrive.”

Flynn groaned. _“Isn’t there some poor, indigent adventurer nearby who could handle this? Why’s it got to be you?”_

“I can handle it,” Shaw said, answering them both. It would be no trouble for him to take out a group of thugs. Waiting on a messenger to reach the militia and then return with support, assuming they could get away, would take half the day. Shaw could be at the farm in a fraction of that time.

“Blessings of the tides be upon you, Spymaster,” Sandersen said with a dip of his head. “I’ll await you downstairs.”

 _“I notice you didn’t say_ we _would handle it.”_

Shaw shut the door and turned around with his hands on his hips, looking down at Flynn. In the back of his mind he knew they must look ridiculous, the pair of them. “That’s because _we_ won’t.” He marched over to the window and pulled it shut, locking the pane in place. From his pocket he produced a brass key. As he bent down to retrieve his boots, he said, “If you manage to grow thumbs while I’m gone, I advise you remain nearby.”

_“If you lock me in this room—”_

“There’s some lunch for you there.” He pointed to the table. “I’ll be back soon.”

_“Shaw!”_

He shut the door and turned the key in the lock. Flynn’s muffled rage was still loud enough that he could make out every vile epithet and colorful invective through the door. Fortunately, there was no gap he could use to wiggle a paw through. “Stay put,” Shaw said, knowing Flynn would probably do everything in his power to accomplish the exact opposite.

It wasn’t that he enjoyed doing things like that to Flynn, but the man was a cat. He had no business being in the middle of a brawl. And, in all likelihood, that’s exactly what it would turn into. Half a dozen (almost certainly armed) enemies wouldn’t give him much pause, but if he had to look out for Flynn, too? No, he wouldn’t allow him to risk himself like that, no matter how wronged he felt by his circumstances or the quality of Shaw’s friendship.

Just as he turned away from the door, with the last mumbled complaints from Flynn at his back, Shaw caught a wave of incredible sadness and humiliation. It washed over him and left him standing there, staring at nothing, feeling like a monster.

He turned back to the door and put a palm against the wood. The rough grain under his hand was grounding, but did little to ease his shame. “Flynn,” he said quietly, knowing he would be heard through the door. “I’m… sorry.” _I don’t want anything to happen to you,_ he wanted to say. Only he couldn’t, and he didn’t know why.

There was no reply, and he hadn’t expected one. Still, the silence was disappointing.

  
Shaw left Caper in a copse of trees down the road from the farm. He hadn’t bothered to wear his armor, as nothing about a half-dozen thieves sounded particularly dangerous to him. He _did_ have a decent collection of weapons on his person. That was simply common sense.

He was within sight of the main house when he spotted them; they were a mixed lot, composed of everything from humans to goblins. Not terribly picky, then. It was possible the one tauren in the group might prove to be a problem, but none of the others concerned him. He could remain hidden where he was and pick them off one by one if he was careful about it.

The first of his knives made a high whistling sound as it cut through the air on the way to its target. It landed hilt-deep in the back of the first thief—a human—and he dropped where he stood. None of the others saw him, but Shaw was certain they would note his absence soon enough.

Sure enough, within minutes the others came looking for their missing comrade. They found him dead on the ground and hastily pulled their own weapons, scanning the valley around them for signs of an attack. It was almost comical how predictable they were.

“Is it him?” one of the group asked. That caught Shaw’s attention. They were looking for someone?

“Has to be.”

The tauren turned in place, sniffing the air. _Shit,_ Shaw thought belatedly. He hadn’t counted on scent giving him away. Was he upwind or down? He stopped and focused on his surroundings, feeling his heart thudding against his ribs as he waited for the telltale caress of a breeze.

The tauren shook his maned head, unsettling several opportunistic flies. “I’d smell the cat,” he said.

Shaw felt a stab of ice-cold fear in his gut as he realized what he was hearing.

_They were waiting for him?_

“Keep your mouth shut!” the goblin snapped. “You want he should figure out what we’re really here for? I don’t know about you, but I intend to get paid for this little venture.”

“But Waltson’s dead—”

“And that means more gold for us, don’t it? Quit cryin’. Help me drag him around to the barn.”

They hefted the dead man, with the tauren carrying the bulk of his weight and the goblin holding one foot. It told Shaw more about them than he was certain they realized; for one thing, despite their tough talk, they were almost certainly amateurs. None of them had stopped to look at where Waltson had fallen, or wondered from what direction the knife must have come. It was possible they hadn’t even considered that the knife might have been thrown, rather than delivered to its target in person. They had no idea where he was, or how he had struck, and they didn’t seem to care. The only real advantage they had was the tauren’s nose.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how they had come to know he was in Stormsong. Sandersen’s comment about the speed of information came back to him, and he frowned. It didn’t seem possible—or even plausible. Surely even the spymaster of the Alliance wasn’t that noteworthy. The king, maybe. And how did they know about Flynn? He supposed a man traveling alone with a cat was worth a second glance, but it all added up to more questions than answers. He didn’t like to operate under so much uncertainty.

An orc came around the back of the house, likely on some sort of patrol, and he was quickly dispatched with another knife to the neck. It was possible the others wouldn’t think to check the surrounding area more thoroughly than they had before, but after losing two men in the same spot, it would be foolish of them to think he wasn’t hiding somewhere on that side of the farm. That meant it was time to move on.

With a bit of careful maneuvering, Shaw made his way over to the barn. Once inside, he found Waltson’s body and the mounts the bandits had used to cross the valley. Six in total. They were still saddled, as though the bandits intended to be on the move again quickly. It made sense, regardless of whether they were looting a farm or laying a trap. He had expected to find as much. What he hadn’t expected was the large wire cage hanging from the side of the largest horse. A cage that was just the right size for a cat.

* * *

  
  
Flynn stretched out across the bed and thought about Shaw’s apology. It had sounded as though he might’ve wanted to say more, but then he’d turned and left without another word, and Flynn had listened to his footsteps all the way down through the inn and out into the stable yard. From the window, he had watched as Shaw took off in what he assumed was the direction of the besieged farm, no doubt relieved to ride at a decent clip for once. No pesky cat to worry about.

It had been a little over an hour since then, and Flynn was beginning to think of how he might escape their room. He had no intention of trying to follow Shaw; as keen as his little pink nose was at detecting even the subtlest of scents, he had no interest in sniffing his way across the valley like some silly hound. It was just that he hated being cooped up in a room all by himself, with nothing but his own mind to keep him company. He knew why Shaw was so keen to keep him away from danger, of course. He was the one who had pointed out his own small size after all. And, if he was being honest, a part of him appreciated it. A part of him even _liked_ that Shaw cared. But the thought that he couldn’t properly look after himself… it felt… 

It felt like being locked in a room all the time. Helpless. Incompetent. Like Shaw was just waiting for something terrible to come along and gobble him up, and Flynn would simply let it happen, when that was just ridiculous. He could handle himself. And he truly thought he might have managed this curse business just fine if he’d been left to his own devices, but the collar, the tag, the insistence on leaving him behind—it was getting to be too much. He knew he’d been disagreeable since that first night, but could anyone really blame him?

Alright, so he somewhat blamed himself. Shaw was being a good friend, that was all. Nothing to get his tail in a twist over. Perhaps he wasn’t going about it in the most agreeable manner, but he wasn’t being cruel. That first night notwithstanding. And, at least for the moment, he was all Flynn had. A responsibility he’d thrown himself into without hesitation. That was worth something.

In that spirit, Flynn decided to let bygones be bygones, and propose a truce when Shaw returned from his latest legally sanctioned bout of murder. Given the man’s history, he assumed that wouldn’t take long.

  
It was another few hours before he heard boots stomping up the stairs at a speed he might have deemed unwise for a creature with only two legs. He heard the key as it was jammed into the lock, and then the door swung open. There stood Shaw, his linen shirt stained dark with blood.

 _“Gave you some trouble, did they?”_ he asked with a smirk. Or what he intended to be a smirk, anyway. He wasn’t actually certain he _could_ smirk.

“We have to go,” was all Shaw said. He slammed the door shut behind him and proceeded to start bustling about the room, packing up everything he could find that was theirs. That included Flynn’s collar, which had been removed so that he could sleep comfortably. He tucked it in a pouch, and started pulling on his leather armor. That was Flynn’s first inkling that things were not alright.

 _“Something go wrong at the farm? Are they following you?”_ He couldn’t imagine Mathias Shaw running from a fight, but stranger things had happened. He was living proof of that.

Shaw’s hair was windblown and tousled, as though he had galloped the horse back to the inn. It was a good look for him, Flynn decided. “They’re all dead,” he said.

_“So what’s the rush?”_

“They knew about me. About you. They were waiting.”

Flynn raised himself up onto his paws and tried to give Shaw the most serious look he could manage without eyebrows. _“How?”_ he asked.

Shaking his head, Shaw blew out a breath and said, “I don’t know. It’s possible the tidesages…” He shook his head a second time, running a hand through his hair and leaving furrows in the copper locks. “No, it wasn’t them.”

_“How can you be so sure?”_

For the first time since he burst through the door, Shaw stopped moving. He looked at Flynn, and there was an alarming amount of worry in his eyes. Something Flynn was not accustomed to seeing. “There was a cage for you, Flynn. When was the last time you remember seeing animals in cages?”

 _“Well, there was that one zoo in Kezan, although, between you and me, I’m not so sure a single chicken was worth the price of admission. But he_ did _have teeth.”_

“Flynn.”

 _“I don’t know… er, yesterday? That mage you were admiring on the road. He had all those animals, and they were in cages. Strange, I thought. Who puts a gull in a cage? And they were all panicky, like…”_ His ears folded back flat against his head. _“Like they were afraid of something. Oh no. Shaw?”_

The look Shaw was giving him said that he had guessed correctly: the situation was much more troubling and potentially dangerous than either of them had realized. “Now you see why we have to leave.”

_“But if he’s here in Stormsong—”_

“He was headed to Boralus. It’s the thugs he’s hired to do his dirty work that we have to worry about.” He stuffed one last piece of clothing into his bag and turned to the door. “Do you want me to carry you down?” he asked.

_“I think we’re fine for now. Might as well stretch my legs while I can, yeah? Sounds like we won’t have a chance to stop on the road.”_

“I wouldn’t suggest it.”

Flynn laughed, but only to hide how nervous he really was. Then he remembered that Shaw could sense how he was feeling anyway, and he just felt embarrassed.

A hand came down on the back of his head and gave him a gentle pat. “It will be fine,” Shaw said. “He won’t get his hands on you.”

In truth, it wasn’t being captured that had Flynn worried; it was whatever the mage intended to do with him once he had him that sent a chill down his spine. He thought of the squawking gull and the weasel trapped in their cages, watching him. The mage had reeked of unease, and so Flynn hadn’t thought much of the other creatures, but what if they’d been like him? What if they had known what he really was, and they were trying to warn him? What if they knew what fate awaited them all?

Not much frightened him, but that… The possibilities made him uneasy in a way that shook him to his core.

* * *

  
  
_“I suppose you’ll have to hold onto me,”_ Flynn said as Shaw hauled himself up into the saddle. _“I doubt our friend Caper would appreciate my way of doing it.”_

Shaw beckoned him up into his lap. Flynn made the easy leap from the fence post to the saddle, and immediately curled himself close. It wasn’t nearly as strange as Shaw thought it probably should be, having him tucked in as he was. Between his legs. He set that aside to examine later, when he wasn’t distracted by the pressing need to return Flynn to the safety of Boralus, and the _Wind’s Redemption_. Although, given the recent changes to security on the ship, he wondered if asking Jaina to let Flynn stay in Proudmoore Keep wouldn’t be more appropriate for the time being.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to sleep through this ride,” he said.

_“Not a problem, I napped most of the day while you were out delivering justice in the name of the admiralty.”_

Shaw frowned at Flynn’s description. “If you want to call it that.”

He had dispatched most of the bandits easily enough, apart from the tauren. After unsaddling and releasing their mounts, sending the remaining four bandits into a panic attempting to retrieve them, he’d killed the goblin, the other human, and the only troll. Strangely enough, only the goblin had required a personal touch. Shaw had been able to garrote the troll, and he’d put a knife in the kidney of the human, but unlike the others, the goblin was apparently trained in hand-to-hand combat. He didn’t last long, but he made the effort worth it, at least.

The tauren, though… He had put Shaw through his paces. If not for his size and the danger of his horns—not to mention his hooves—he might have been an easier mark. But the fight had been difficult, and the advantages of his greater flexibility and speed were limited by the tauren’s tremendous reach. In the end, the enormous bull had gone down with three small throwing knives in him and a poisoned dagger in his back. It was one Shaw preferred to save for emergencies, and it galled him to have used it on a fight that should have taken half the time. His head simply wasn’t in the game. It was back at the inn, with Flynn, and his fears of what the mage might do to capture him.

They set out at a brisk canter, with the early afternoon sun at their backs. Once they were clear of the village, Shaw urged Caper to a gallop, wrapping a hand around Flynn to keep him safely in place. The ride back to Tiragarde Sound would take hours, and he couldn’t possibly expect the horse to maintain such a pace, but he would push him whenever he could.

 _“You’re worried, aren’t you,”_ Flynn said after several minutes.

There was no sense lying about it. “I’m familiar with the kind of ugliness that desperation can provoke. Whatever he’s planning, you’re a liability. More so now that you’ve seen his face.” He grimaced into the oncoming wind. “We both are.”

_“What do you suppose he’s going to do with the others?”_

“The others?”

_“In the cages. Don’t tell me you haven’t drawn the same conclusions I have. You’re the spymaster after all.”_

The truth was, he didn’t know. It had never occurred to him to wonder, and that shamed him. While his duty wasn’t to Kul Tiras, specifically, and there were few who would accuse him of having any sort of outstanding moral code, he didn’t relish seeing innocent people suffer. And there was no reason to assume that the mage’s other victims were deserving of their fate. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

_“We’ll help them if we can, right?”_

The question was so wrapped up in worry that Shaw didn’t bother to think before he answered. “Of course we will,” he said, giving Flynn’s chest a scratch. Just to reassure him.

  
The sun was little more than a burning sliver on the horizon when they passed the empty checkpoint and crested the rise before the last leg of their journey. Tiragarde lay spread out before them, hazy in the amber light of the early dusk. The sight was a welcome relief. Once, not so very long ago, Shaw had dreaded the thought of months posted to a foreign port. Now he thought of Boralus as something of a second home. He would never quite be comfortable there—he supposed part of that was living aboard a ship—but he certainly wasn’t unhappy.

 _“That’s a sight for sore eyes,”_ Flynn said cheerily. _“Never thought I’d be so glad to spot those bright blue sails.”_

The Alliance really did like to make itself known, Shaw thought with a smirk. He slowed Caper to a brisk walk as they stepped onto the wooden bridge that would take them over a burbling creek fed from the spring melt. From there, the rest of the journey was, literally, all downhill.

“I’ll have to report to Wyrmbane before I can send a messenger to Proudmoore Keep,” he said, “but it shouldn’t take long. With any luck, we’ll be able to meet with Jaina tonight, and—”

Without warning, Caper threw his head and bounced up on his hind legs. It was all Shaw could do to keep from being thrown, and he tightened his fingers in Flynn’s fur. “Whoa!” he shouted, trying to calm the horse. It wasn’t until all the jostling and snorting had stopped that he realized what had caused the animal to spook.

Ahead in the road, at first nearly invisible in the long shadows of the nearby trees, stood several figures. Shaw squinted at them, trying to make out who or what they might be through the waning light.

Humans, mainly. Orcs. Another two tauren. Even an elf. The same random makeup as the group at the farm. Mercenaries, in all likelihood. Possibly even pirates who had been enticed to come ashore for a bounty.

Flynn stood up in his lap and placed his front paws on Shaw’s shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Shaw saw the fur along his back stand on end, fluffing up all the way to the tip of his tail. _“Shaw…”_ he whispered, and the spike of fear that accompanied his name was so strong that Shaw had to catch his breath. He turned in the saddle to find more enemies on the road behind them. All told, they were facing no fewer than a dozen opponents.

“They come runnin’ right to us, just like he said,” a troll chuckled.

Shaw felt like the air had been punched from his lungs as he realized his mistake. An oversight that never should have been allowed to happen.

It was all a trap.

The farmhouse, what he’d overheard; it was all meant to make him panic and send him rushing back to Tiragarde and into the ambush that awaited them. He should have known better. He should have been prepared. And if his mind was on the job, he might have been. But it wasn’t. It hadn’t been since the morning he woke up and found Flynn in his cabin.

 _“Don’t suppose you’re hiding ten or twelve of your SI:7 friends somewhere nearby?”_ Flynn asked with a nervous laugh. He was putting on a brave face, but Shaw could feel his dread. One of the orcs behind them had a leash on some sort of beast that looked like the monstrous offspring of a direwolf and a hyena. It was growling low in its throat, yellowed fangs bared to the gums as it eyed Flynn over Shaw’s shoulder.

They weren’t getting out of this one. Not both of them, anyway.

“When I dismount, I want you to run,” Shaw muttered under his breath. He said it so quietly that he was certain even the elf hadn’t caught it, but he knew Flynn would.

_“What? Absolutely not!”_

“Just do it.”

“You can give us the cat,” one of the humans said. She held up a metal cage. It looked exactly like the others. “We might just kill you quickly if you do.”

“Generous of you.”

“We thought so. Our instructions didn’t mention anything about being merciful.”

_“That rat bastard mage. He’s really going to get it when I have fingers again. Just find me a cutlass and a pistol and I’ll show him what I think of this whole business.”_

Shaw appreciated his optimism, but he had serious doubts that they were ever going to get close enough to the mage for Flynn to have that chance. At least not while they were both human. And alive.

“I’m going to come down off the horse,” he said. “I’m unarmed.” That wasn’t exactly true, but they didn’t need to know about all the weapons he had on him. Not that it mattered anyway; it was unlikely he would get a chance to brandish most of them.

_“Put a knife in her skull, Shaw. There’s nothing I loathe more than someone who kills for gold. Present company excluded, of course.”_

Shaw rolled his eyes and sighed. This _would_ be the way he died.

“We’re waiting,” came the impatient reminder from the other end of the bridge.

Well, he supposed it wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever heard. Not that it mattered much what he did at that point.

Lightning-quick, he pulled a knife from the concealed sleeve in his armor and sent it straight at the woman holding the cage, where it sank deep into her chest. She crumpled to the ground, and it took her comrades a few seconds to register what had happened before they gathered their wits and rushed forward. Behind him, Shaw could hear the others storming across the bridge. He could keep most of them busy, keep them focused on him, and give Flynn time to escape. Once he was in the trees, it was unlikely they would be able to catch up with a cat. Not even if the orc let the wolf-beast loose on him.

Half turning, Shaw dropped Flynn over the side of the bridge and onto the rocks below. He heard a curse and felt Flynn’s shock and resulting anger, but he didn’t have time to worry about it; the first of their attackers had reached him, and he had to duck to avoid the swing of a cutlass. Pirates. Almost definitely pirates.

They were already down one, and he swiftly dispatched a second with a slash across the throat. Someone barreled into him from behind, and out of the corner of his eye he saw another blade coming for his head. Twisting at the last second, he managed to spin the body clinging to him from behind so that the sword buried itself deep into his would-be captor, instead. That made three. Not a bad start. With any luck, he would be able to take down a good half of them before they killed him.

Trapped amidst the fray, Caper snorted and whinnied in fear, kicking out at anyone unfortunate to pass behind him and nearly pushing Shaw over the side of the bridge in the process. Suddenly there was a flurry of movement by the end of the bridge. A ball of brown and white fur launched itself through the melee, landing claws-first on a goblin, who began flailing wildly in an attempt to free himself. Flynn bit at his long ears and kicked hard at his face, shouting insults and promising swift death. 

Absolute chaos had engulfed the bridge, and in the midst of it all was Flynn, fangs and claws flying as though they were sharpened steel. Shaw could feel his focus slipping, his attention sliding to Flynn over and over, rather than his enemies. He could hold his own long enough for Flynn to escape, but not if Flynn _didn’t actually escape_. “Get out of here!” he shouted.

 _“Not leaving you to die like this, mate, not even if you make it an order,”_ Flynn answered. He leapt from the goblin, who had fallen to the ground, curled up with his hands over his head to protect himself from further harm.

“The cat!” one of the tauren shouted. Some of the others turned in his direction and followed his line of sight to where Flynn was swiping at the ankle of a female troll.

“Flynn, run!” Shaw yelled, hoping this time the man might actually _listen_.

But Flynn didn’t run. He dashed between the hands grabbing for him from all sides, coming to a stop beneath Caper with his claws scratching at the wooden boards. Once he had his bearings, he wiggled his backside and leapt nimbly onto the railing beside Shaw, and from there onto the back of the elf. But the elf was ready for him, and he nimbly dodged Flynn’s claws. He grabbed Flynn by the scruff and threw him to the other end of the bridge, where he landed mostly on his feet and promptly dashed off again.

Shaw didn’t have time to see where he went next; a blow to the gut delivered by one of the tauren left him heaving dry air, and then he was picked up and launched over the side of the bridge into the creek below. He was still gasping for air when he hit the water, and it filled his throat and lungs until he thought they might burst. Somehow, through the blur and the whorls that obscured his vision, he managed to push himself up onto his feet. That was when he saw Flynn coming down the slope toward him.

The wolf was right on his heels.

* * *

Flynn ran as fast as he could, faster than he ever had in his life before that moment. He felt the grass and dirt beneath his paws as he tore across the ground toward Shaw, hoping to reach him in time. Hoping Shaw could help him escape the jaws that snapped like bear traps right behind him, so close that he could feel the heat of the wolf’s breath. He might have made it, too, if not for the rocks.

Only a few feet from Shaw, he slipped on one of the large, slick stones that were scattered along the creek’s edge, and he went down skidding on his side. The wolf was on him so fast he barely had time to think; its jaws closed around one of his hind legs, and then he was being shaken, and for one terrifying moment he thought he was going to be torn to pieces, and he would never get to tell Shaw that he was glad, if someone could hear and feel what he was saying, that it was him. That he really did prefer to sleep in the bed, instead of curled up on the floor, because the bed was warm and _Shaw_ was warm, and he smelled so much better than everything else.

“Get off!” a voice shouted over him. He couldn’t tell if it was Shaw or one of the mage’s hired thugs. The teeth that had sunk into his flesh abruptly released him, and then there was only pain. He yowled in agony, blindly crawling on his belly out of the water. He heard someone cursing, more shouting, and the sounds of fighting all around him. Caper was still screeching in the background, and his hooves pounded against the wood of the bridge like war hammers. All the while, Flynn fought the darkness that was reaching up for him, trying to pull him down and convince him that he could just close his eyes and sleep. He knew, somehow, that wasn’t true; it wasn’t safe, and he wouldn’t wake up again. He wondered where Shaw had gone. Was he already dead? If Shaw had been killed, Flynn knew he wasn’t far behind. But maybe that was better. Maybe letting go and slipping into the darkness was a better end than whatever it was the mage had planned for him.

It seemed like he didn’t have much of a choice either way.

  
Flynn came to amidst darkness and the feeling of something closing around him, holding him tight. He hissed and struggled to escape, and in his panic he lashed out with his claws and teeth and put every last bit of strength he had left into sinking them all deep into the flesh of whatever had come to finish him off.

“Flynn, stop!” he heard a familiar voice yell.

Through the darkness he stared up past the hands that held him, finding Shaw at the other end. Blood welled from the wounds where his skin was visible between the segments of his leather armor, but he didn’t so much as flinch.

“Flynn,” he said. He sounded breathless. His hair was sweat-soaked and plastered to his forehead, and his skin was streaked with blood. “Come on.”

 _“Wolf,”_ Flynn tried to warn him, but as he pulled his teeth from Shaw’s hand and looked around, he saw that the attackers were gone. All of them.

“Light, that’s a lot of blood,” Shaw muttered to himself. He didn’t seem to think Flynn could hear him. Then Flynn realized it was because he’d gone limp, and it was only Shaw’s hands that were holding him upright anymore.

He was lifted up and cradled in surprisingly comfortable arms for all the leather wrapped around them, and then all the sights and smells seemed to blur; Shaw was running, he realized. He held Flynn against his chest, carrying him like precious cargo. In some distant, very relaxed part of his mind, Flynn thought about how kind that was. Then they were somehow on horseback again, and they were riding. The pounding rhythm of Caper’s hooves was almost enough to lull him back to sleep. If only the pain would stop.

The familiar scent of the harbor hit him first, and the sounds of the rigging as the ships swayed in their moorings. They had dismounted at some point, but Flynn couldn’t remember how they had gotten there or when. He felt Shaw take the steps down to the dock, and the jolt of each footstep made him think he must have jumped two or three at a time. The gangplank bounced beneath him as he ran up to the deck of the _Wind’s Redemption_ , and Flynn tried to complain about the bumpy ride, but he found he couldn’t make the words come. That struck him as particularly strange, since he only had to think them. He made a note to ask Shaw about that when he stopped running like the Legion was at his back.

“Master Shaw?” some voice asked. Whoever it was, they sounded confused and smelled nervous. He was getting sick of that smell.

“Get the hell out of my way!” Shaw growled.

Flynn really would have liked to have commented on that, but he was so _tired_.

He was carried down into the ship, where the crew quarters were located. He knew that was where they were going because he could smell Shaw’s scent much stronger there, and that meant his cabin was near. But they didn’t go in that direction. Instead, Shaw carried him further into the ship, toward the bow. The thought was quickly pushed aside by the realization that he was shaking. His entire body was quivering like a banner caught in the breeze.

Shaw pounded on a cabin door. “Halford!” he shouted. “Wake up!”

“Mathias?” Flynn heard Wyrmbane ask blearily as he opened the door. “What in the Light is going on?”

“It’s Flynn. He’s—Halford,” Shaw said, pausing to swallow thickly, “you have to heal him.”

The conversation was taking place all around him, and somehow away from him, and Flynn only knew he was still in Shaw’s arms because of the feeling that vibrated through his body every time Shaw spoke.

And the smell of their mingled blood.

“The blood…” Wyrmbane muttered. “Mathias, is this yours?”

“Not all of it. Most of it is his. Halford, please, we’re wasting time.”

“I don’t—I’ve never healed an animal, Mathias. I don’t know if I can. I don’t know what it might do to him.”

The hands holding him tightened just a bit. Shaw was cradling him close to his body, as though he could simply fix Flynn that way, and will the blood to stop seeping from his wounds. “I know what will happen if you don’t,” he said gravely. “Just try, please. This is all my fault, I failed him.” A trembling finger stroked the bridge of Flynn’s nose. Only a light touch.

“Mathias.”

“Halford, _do it_.”

Everything was silent for what felt like ages after that, but Flynn thought maybe he was just drifting in and out of sleep again. At some point, he realized that he was no longer in Shaw’s arms, but lying on a cold, flat surface. He could feel a hand holding one of his paws. That was nice.

“What in Elune’s name is going on in here?” a soft, soothing voice asked. Shandris Feathermoon. Flynn could smell the scent of leaves and wind on the leading edge of a rainstorm. “You two have woken up half the ship with your… Oh, oh _no_ ,” she gasped. “Shaw?”

“I didn’t…” was all Shaw said.

“I’d like to avoid making this worse,” Wyrmbane said to them both. His voice sounded tight, like he was angry, but he smelled fearful. “If you wouldn’t mind keeping silent until I’m through.”

The finger that had been holding Flynn’s paw was now gently rubbing the pads instead. He wanted to pull back, away from the touch, because it was far too much for him. Like being stroked in the same spot over and over for hours, until a light caress became a grating drag. But then he felt a surge of incredible warmth, and a rush of what he could only think of as _bright_ filled him. It flooded his little body with heat until it seemed to spill into every corner of his being. It was almost too much, in fact, like the fingers stroking his paw. He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t stopping—

And then, all at once, the warmth that had flared within him withdrew and faded to a steady, pulsing ember. The overwhelming radiance at his center receded until it was only a distant echo of a sensation. He could still feel the fingers holding his paw, but they had stopped rubbing. He was breathing steadily, and the shaking was beginning to ease.

“Mathias,” he heard Wyrmbane say. “You should get cleaned up. I will take Captain Fairwind—”

“No. He stays with me.”

Wyrmbane sighed through his nose. “I will take him to your cabin. Fetch a basin of warm water while you’re in the galley. Go.” He made it sound like an order, though Flynn knew that it wasn’t really.

A fatigue unlike anything he had ever felt before crept over him then, and though his eyes were already closed, he let himself slip deeper into the darkness that beckoned him. The idea of letting go and allowing himself to follow it down had frightened him before, when he didn’t know where he was anymore or whether he would eventually wake up. Now it was a comfort; a relief, to know that he could drift away safely and return again unharmed. He had nothing to worry about. Everything was fine. Shaw had him, and he would be there to keep watch in the dark.


	5. Chapter 5

Flynn started awake with a growl, prepared to sink his claws into the specter of the wolf that had been chasing him through his dreams. But there was no wolf behind him, no snapping fangs, ready to eat him up. No danger.

Before he had even opened his eyes, he knew that he was in Shaw’s cabin. Even if he hadn’t known every worn board and well-read stack of parchment by heart, he would have recognized the scent. Leather and ink. Fresh parchment and keen metal. Shaw.

Warm light poured through the closed portholes above, enticing moats of dust to dance in the golden rays that bathed the room. Shaking off the lingering dread that had accompanied him out of his dream, Flynn yawned and flopped over on his side, nestling in close to enjoy the morning warmth. That was when he realized that he was curled into the crook of Shaw’s neck.

The half of Shaw’s face that Flynn could see was a crisscrossing map of cuts and bruises, some severe enough that he wondered if someone shouldn’t have healed them before letting the man wander off and go to bed. Although, knowing Shaw, he’d have refused the help anyway.

Flynn was struck with a powerful urge to lick the wounds. That seemed… wrong. At least to the human half of him. Instead, he snuggled in closer, turning his head so that he could press it against the underside of Shaw’s chin. It was enough to wake him, and he blinked slowly as he took in his surroundings and realized where he was. Perhaps he’d been having nightmares, too.

_“Good morning,”_ Flynn said. He rolled onto his back and stretched again, all the way across Shaw’s neck and to his other shoulder.

Shaw rubbed an eye and grunted what Flynn assumed was meant to be a greeting of his own. “How’re you feeling?” he mumbled.

_“Divine. Pun fully intended. Wyrmbane fixed me up right good.”_ He didn’t mention that his hip was still a bit sore, and he felt as if he hadn’t slept in days. That would probably pass.

Flynn had expected some dry wit from Shaw of the sort they usually exchanged after a brush with death. Instead, Shaw took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he stared at the ceiling of the cabin. After some time had passed, he said, “It was my fault.”

_“What was?”_

“All of it. I should have seen the ambush coming.”

Flynn laughed. _“That’s why they call it an ambush, mate. You’re not meant to know it’s there.”_

“No,” said Shaw, “the deception was obvious, in hindsight. I just… My mind wasn’t on the task.” He had started idly petting Flynn, lightly running a hand along his back and to the base of his tail. Flynn kept to himself how good it felt; as far as he knew, unless he was making some sort of noise, Shaw couldn’t actually sense his feelings. It was a nifty little loophole.

“You could have been killed.”

_“Nearly was,”_ Flynn quipped. _“Oh, don’t scowl, Spymaster. Despite your apparent belief to the contrary, you are only a man. You can’t be expected to know everything that’s going on around you.”_

“I knew he was hunting for you,” Shaw said. “I knew he had already made one attempt.” He paused. “Two, if you count his efforts to buy you on the road.”

_“Still think five gold is an insult.”_

Shaw frowned, tucking his chin against his chest to glare at Flynn. “This is your life, Fairwind.”

_“And you’re looking out for it, aren’t you. I’m safe, Shaw. I’ve no worries, no complaints. You did the best you could.”_ He couldn’t seem to make the man accept that he didn’t blame him for what happened. Largely because he had survived it, though he supposed blaming him after his death would have been rather impossible. Besides that, if he started throwing accusations at every friend who nearly cost him his life on some ill-advised venture, well… he wouldn’t have many friends left. He didn’t seem to attract the most reliable acquaintances, come to think of it.

But Shaw _was_ reliable, and for all that Flynn had been ready to claw that perfectly trimmed mustache off his face not twenty-four hours earlier, the attack was something he couldn’t have foreseen or prevented. Flynn understood that. He also knew that it would have happened sooner or later, and perhaps somewhere even worse. At least they were alive.

He tried to distract Shaw from his little impromptu pity party. _“So, Lady Jaina should be able to fix me up right as rain, yes? Have you sent word to her yet?”_

“She should be here any minute, actually,” Shaw muttered. He was still lost in his own thoughts, a million miles away from the small cabin aboard the _Wind’s Redemption_.

Flynn frowned at him. Shaw wasn’t settling into some sort of despair, was he? Surely that would take more than one mission gone awry. Flynn had _loads_ of those in his past, and he’d never ended up so morose he couldn’t get himself out of bed. Almost. Rarely, anyway.

_“Well, in that case,”_ he said, standing up on Shaw’s chest, _“it’s high time you get some clothes on, wouldn’t you say? Unless you two have some sort of prior arrangement, in which case I can step outside. I owe Wyrmbane my thanks, anyway, I could always find him and let you entertain Lady—”_

Shaw made a disgusted sound and pushed Flynn off his chest. He landed on the bed between Shaw’s legs, fur ruffled and tail up. “Try to show _some_ respect,” Shaw scolded.

_“I thought offering you the room was rather respectful,”_ Flynn returned cheerfully. He watched Shaw swing his legs over the side of the bunk and take a moment to gather himself before he stood up. But he was on his feet, at least. That was a good start. He reached for his clothes—not his armor—draped over the closest chair. Flynn couldn’t tell if he had set them out for himself, or if Wyrmbane had done it after Shaw passed out. Come to think of it, he didn’t know anything about what had transpired after his last conscious thought the night before. He made a note to ask Shaw about that later.

_“Need me to turn around?”_ he asked when Shaw started untying the drawstring on his sleep pants.

Shaw raised his head and blinked in confusion. Then he seemed to realize what he was doing, and who he was doing it in front of, and he stopped. “Yes,” he said slowly, like the word was foreign to him. “Please.”

Flynn popped up on his paws and turned himself to face the portholes. _“I was thinking—”_

“How were you going to thank him?”

Shaw had stopped dressing. Flynn could hear him turn where he was standing. _“Pardon?”_

“How were you going to thank Wyrmbane?” he repeated.

_“Oh, suppose I hadn’t really given it much thought. I could just rub against his leg a lot. That would be weird, though, wouldn’t it.”_

“Incredibly.”

_“Yeah, probably best not to. You’re missing a shirt.”_ Flynn pointed his nose at Shaw’s bare chest. If his face had been a sight, the rest of him was a complete mess. He had a slash across his chest that went clear from one shoulder all the way down to his waist, and more claw marks and gouges in him than a training dummy. Some of them were frankly alarming. _“What in the tides did you do to yourself, Shaw?”_

Shaw glanced down at himself and shrugged. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

_“So have I, but I had the good sense to see a healer when I was able. You’ve got one standing all stoic and grim-faced up on deck, you know.”_

“I am aware.”

_“So why haven’t you—”_

“He was exhausted from healing you,” Shaw said quietly. “My injuries could wait until morning.”

Flynn stared at him, and he knew Shaw could probably feel his shock when he asked, _“How is that possible?”_

“You were…” Shaw dropped his arms with the shirt still in his hands. “Flynn, you were almost dead. Wyrmbane didn’t even want to try at first, and I’m not sure if it’s because he really was afraid that he might do more harm than good, or if he thought you were already beyond saving.” His voice broke just a little, right at the end, and Flynn didn’t need any magical bond to feel the pain Shaw was feeling, or see it in his eyes.

_“I didn’t know,”_ was all he said. All he could say.

“It might be better that you don’t remember most of it.”

No kidding.

Shaw might have said more, but he was interrupted by the sudden cry of _“Admiral on deck!”_ from outside. He finished dressing quickly, grabbed Flynn from the bed, and left the warm, cozy cabin behind. With Flynn held close against his side, he offered Jaina Proudmoore a sharp nod as he jogged up the steps to the main deck. “Lord Admiral,” he said.

“Please, I haven’t quite accustomed myself to that title yet. Let’s stick with what’s familiar, shall we?”

“Of course, Lady Jaina,” Shaw replied. He scratched Flynn’s chest with his fingers, but whether it was to reassure him or to soothe some other imagined concern, Flynn couldn’t tell. He was too distracted by the ache in his hip.

_“Do you suppose she just magicked herself over here?”_ he asked.

Ignoring his question, Shaw turned to Jaina and said, “If you would prefer to do this in private…”

“Given the situation as you’ve explained it, I believe the need for secrecy is no longer terribly relevant,” Jaina replied.

_“She’s got a point.”_

“Fair enough,” said Shaw. He bent down and gently set Flynn on the deck.

“I would stand back, Master Shaw.” Jaina turned to Wyrmbane, Jes-Tereth, and Falstad Wildhammer, who were gathered around to gawk at the spectacle. Flynn might have preened a bit on any other day, being the center of attention as he was. Instead, he just felt like some sort of ridiculous sideshow. “All of you,” she said, gesturing them back.

The others backed away, along with Shaw, leaving Jaina and Flynn in the middle of the deck.

“Whenever you’re ready, Captain.”

Flynn took one last deep breath, savoring the myriad scents and sounds that he would no longer be able to detect as a human. He smelled the wind off the water and the nearby market, the salt-and-seaweed tang of the sound, and the familiar scents of those gathered around to watch, including Shaw.

_“I’m ready,”_ he said.

Shaw relayed his words to Jaina, who promptly began to glow. It started in her eyes, and then it seemed as though the whole of her was limned in a rime of the most delicate frost. Flynn was so transfixed by it that he hardly noticed the arcing lines of bright purple that had appeared beneath his paws—not until they started to glow so brightly that he had to squint away from the glare.

“It’s a powerful curse,” Jaina said. She was frowning at him. Her fingers were bent and straining, as though she struggled to hold up some great weight that only she could see. For his part, Flynn felt nothing. It was a bit disappointing, actually. He’d been expecting something like the light show Wyrmbane had put on the night before.

“This won’t hurt him, will it?” Shaw asked. Flynn hadn’t noticed it when Jaina spoke, but Shaw had to shout over the hum of the magic around them.

_“Fine time to ask!”_ Flynn yelled over his shoulder.

“It shouldn’t,” Jaina said.

_“It shouldn’t?!”_ Flynn whipped back around to look at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

The humming stopped, and the lights around him dimmed. Even Jaina appeared as she had before. Flynn heard Shaw draw in a sharp breath behind him, and he swiveled his head toward the sound.

“Are you alright?” Shaw asked quietly, stepping closer.

“Yeah? Aren’t you supposed to be—” Flynn heard his own voice— _heard it—_ and froze. “Oh,” he whispered. “Oh! I’m me again!” He held out his hands and wiggled his fingers. “Fingers!”

Jaina smiled. “Welcome back, Captain.”

“Thank the tides! And… the Lord Admiral, of course,” Flynn said with a gracious bow. He could _bow!_

“How does it feel?” she asked.

“Good as ever!” Except for his hip, of course. But that would fade in time. “We really ought to have gone straight to you with this.” He heard Shaw’s exasperated sigh, and couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “I suppose Shaw filled you in on the incident that spawned this little misadventure?”

“He told me some of it. I was hoping you might explain the rest—tomorrow,” she added quickly. “You will want to rest today. Some of the energy required to turn you back had to come from your own body. It will need time to replenish itself. I suggest a hearty meal to start with.”

“That mage,” Shaw began, but a gesture from Jaina cut him off.

“I understand your concerns, Shaw. He will be dealt with.” She lowered her voice so that only they would hear. “I’ve recently learned that Captain Fairwind’s transformation and the stolen property he was sent to retrieve are not that mage’s only crimes. Not by far. Rest well, both of you. Our work to bring him to justice begins tomorrow.”

That sounded like a real undertaking to Flynn, but he nodded dutifully and bowed again as she passed. She stopped before the gangplank and put a hand on Shaw’s shoulder. “Take care of him,” she said with a smile.

Shaw didn’t respond except to look away and give a tight nod of his own.

With the show apparently over, the others slowly returned to their business, finding more interesting things to do besides stare at a man who had been a cat. All except Shaw.

“Something wrong?” Flynn asked when he noticed Shaw was still staring at him. He seemed disturbed by something. Flynn gave himself a once-over and a quick pat down and shrugged.

“Your clothing,” Shaw said.

“What about it?”

“You’re…” Shaw made a vague gesture with one hand. “Dressed.”

That was terribly articulate. Flynn was about to say as much when he realized what it was that had Shaw confused. “Well, yeah,” he said, “I was wearing them when I got waylaid by that curse. Didn’t come to sitting in a pile of clothes, so it only makes sense.” He grinned. “Why, disappointed?”

The way Shaw’s jaw dropped open should have been comical. The uncomfortable cough from Wyrmbane should have reminded him where he was. But Flynn was too distracted by the look in Shaw’s eyes to notice anything else. That wasn’t anger or embarrassment, it was _panic_. Like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Flynn squinted at him. “Shaw, are you—”

“I have work to do,” Shaw announced rather abruptly. He strode past Flynn and through the door to the lower decks, disappearing down the steps. Flynn was left standing there, in the middle of the deck, with several of the crew staring at him.

“Right, that needs sorting,” he said, and promptly followed Shaw below decks.

* * *

“Whatever you need, Captain, I believe I’ve done more than my share over the past few days.”

“That’s a fine how-do-you-do,” Flynn said. He was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest.

Shaw’s first impulse was to seek out the emotion behind his comment, but he hit a wall at his own thoughts. That made sense, of course; he wouldn’t be able to sense Flynn’s emotions anymore. The man was as unreadable to him now as he had been the day they first met. “We just spoke less than forty seconds ago, I didn’t see a need for a proper greeting,” he answered gruffly.

“Now who’s in a mood?” Flynn asked. He shoved off the door and came to stand before Shaw’s desk. “Stacking and re-stacking your bloody papers isn’t an answer. What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.”

“Right. I can’t smell you like I could before, but…” Whatever Flynn had been about to say, he either lost interest or forgot it. He was staring at Shaw’s mouth, which only made Shaw even more uncomfortable and annoyed than he already was. “Why are you acting like this?” he demanded.

“Like what.” It wasn’t really a question, but that hardly mattered; Flynn would answer anyway, regardless of whether or not his opinion had been sought.

“Like I wasn’t lying in your bed this morning. Like we haven’t spent the last few days in each other’s company at all hours of the day and night. Like you weren’t blaming yourself for nearly getting me killed less than an hour ago!”

Shaw turned a sharp glare on him. “So, _‘I don’t blame you’_ was just a nice platitude, then?”

“Oh come off it!” Flynn snapped. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Why are you acting as though we’re right back to square one? If I didn’t know any better I’d think we weren’t even friends anymore!”

He didn’t have an answer for that. Whatever Flynn was demanding of him, he couldn’t give it. He barely understood his own mind lately, and he’d spent the last three days sharing it with a cat. Some distance was in order. Yes, that would be for the best. “I have work to do,” he said, returning to the neat stacks of parchment on his desk.

“Yeah, so you’ve told me. Is this because of that crack I made up on deck?”

“No.”

“So that means yes, then. You and your damned…” Flynn heaved a sigh. “Fine. Provided that mage doesn’t find me first, I’ll be at the Snug Harbor if you need me.” He reached out and slapped something down on Shaw’s desk.

It was the collar. The leather had been snapped cleanly at the buckle, probably at some point during his transformation back into a human. It was fortunate for him that the craftsmanship hadn’t been better.

Shaw reached out and slowly picked up the collar and the little brass tag.

_Flynn_

_Return to M. Shaw_

He opened a drawer and put the collar inside, slamming it shut again. “I doubt I will, Captain. Good day.”

Flynn stared at him for a moment, and if they had been connected still, if the bond hadn’t evaporated the moment he changed back, Shaw knew he would have felt the man’s hurt without even looking at him. It was certainly evident in the way he turned his back and stormed from the cabin.

Shaw waited until the sound of Flynn’s footsteps had faded before he swept everything off the desk and onto the floor.

  
That night, he lay awake in his bunk, still mostly dressed from the day. He hadn’t ever bothered to change from his civilian clothes back into his armor. He hadn’t seen much of a point, what with Wyrmbane’s order that he take a day to rest. As though he had been the one injured, leg nearly torn from his body and most of his blood staining the hands and clothes of someone he’d trusted.

He had asked Wyrmbane to dispose of his clothing from the night before. Even if it hadn’t been utterly ruined, he didn’t think he could bear to look at the evidence of his failure to protect Flynn. Perhaps Flynn really _didn’t_ blame him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t blame himself. And then he’d followed it up with that frankly embarrassing display up on deck. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. The occasion required a drink, he decided.

There was a bottle of Halaani whiskey in his desk—a gift from King Anduin two or three Winter Veils ago, when he was still just Prince Anduin. Shaw kept it around just in case there was ever a need for him to spend an evening in an inebriated stupor. This seemed like just such a night.

He jerked open the top left drawer of his desk with perhaps more force than necessary, and the little silver bottle slid down to the front.

Along with Flynn’s collar.

Shaw left the bottle where it was and plucked the collar from the drawer. It could be repaired easily. Only the stitching had been ripped, leaving the rest intact.

He threw it back down into the drawer and took a sip of the whiskey. What would be the point in repairing it? So Flynn could keep it as a souvenir of the worst three days of his life? So he could be reminded, day after day, of how spectacularly Shaw had failed in his duty? Because if Flynn didn’t blame him now, a little time would certainly change that, and Shaw wasn’t strong enough to endure it. He couldn’t bear to watch Flynn slowly come to realize that he hadn’t just been injured, and he hadn’t just experienced another run-of-the-mill brush with death, like he was strangely accustomed to. His injuries were going to leave him with lasting pain, and no amount of good cheer would change that. He’d put on a brave face, but Shaw could feel it, could feel how much he was hiding because he didn’t understand yet that it was permanent. And it was Shaw’s fault.

Breathing in ice-cold water had been less painful than facing a future where Flynn despised him for his mistake. Because the last three days had probably been some of the most unpleasant of Flynn’s life, but Shaw had relished every _minute_ of it, right up until Sandersen had knocked on his door. He had never imagined he might enjoy having more than a casual working relationship with Flynn. Never realized that he might enjoy just being in his company, existing with him.

Maybe he should have insisted on taking Flynn’s plight to Jaina right away, but something had stopped him besides Flynn’s fear of the consequences. Some selfish impulse he couldn’t explain. There was no excuse for it, and that didn’t just make him a failure, it made him a bad friend. Flynn deserved better.

He sat on the edge of his bunk and looked at his hands. They still bore the marks from Flynn’s teeth and claws, though the blood had long since been washed away and scabs had formed over the wounds. Flynn had been half out of his mind with fear and pain when it happened. Shaw took some small comfort in the knowledge that at least Flynn wasn’t actually afraid of him, he had only reacted on instinct. He was probably safer for it, too. Not that he had much to fear from the mage now that he was a human again.

That thought gave him pause. Was Flynn any safer as a human?

He thought of the last words he had exchanged with Flynn that morning. _‘Provided that mage doesn’t find me first,’_ Flynn had said. While Shaw might have chalked that up to his customary melodrama on any other day, given the circumstances—given the lengths the mage had already gone to—it wasn’t out of the question that he might make another attempt in Boralus. Flynn must have thought the same thing. And whereas Shaw was on a boat surrounded by 7th Legion troops and some of the most skilled fighters on Azeroth, Flynn was alone in an inn. That was probably why he had gone to the Snug Harbor in the first place, rather than bunking aboard his ship as he had prior to his transformation. He was vulnerable.

And there was Shaw, letting him down _again_.

* * *

  
Flynn rolled over in the bed and sighed at the darkness. He hadn’t slept a wink all night. The candles had long since snuffed themselves out in their own wax, and the sounds of carousing in the tavern below had faded. Even without a clock or ship’s bells he could tell that it was some awful hour no sober man should ever have to endure.

It was strange to sleep stretched out on a bed with nothing touching his skin but a blanket. In less than a week he’d grown so accustomed to having fur that he actually _missed_ it. Or maybe it was that he missed how comforting it was to curl up into a ball with his tail tucked around him, safe and warm with someone at his side.

It wasn’t the same, being surrounded by strangers in their own rooms, lying in a bed that smelled like nothing but the faintest hint of stale sweat. He missed leather and ink. He missed Shaw. The thought was galling.

The inn was too quiet. Everything was too quiet, too blunted; he couldn’t smell anything or anyone around him, and the shadows were deeper than they had ever been before. He felt like someone had thrown a sack over his head and tied it off, and all he wanted was to run somewhere, anywhere. He also really, _really_ wanted some chicken.

He turned over on his other side, violently dragging the blanket along with him. Sleep still refused to come.

To hell with it all, and to hell with Shaw, too. The man had all but thrown him off the ship, wrapped up in his own sourness and thinking only of himself. Flynn wasn’t fool enough to have missed the look on his face, either. He knew what was happening, but he also knew that he would never make Shaw accept it. No, the man would sooner be turned into a cat himself than admit he cared for anyone. They had been friends long enough that Flynn was certain of that much. Just as he was certain that Shaw would mope about, sullen and testy, until he felt enough time had passed that he could simply pretend nothing had ever happened.

Well, he could have it. He could have his blasted pride and his sullen silences. Flynn threw off the blanket and got up out of the bed. The tavern might be empty of patrons at that hour, but the kitchen would likely still be open. _Someone_ would have chicken, if not there, then somewhere else.

He pulled on his pants and boots, threw a shirt over his head, and pulled open the door—

—to find Shaw sitting huddled against the wall across from his room, fast asleep.

He had his knees tucked up to his chest, with his arms folded between. His head was slumped against his shoulder. He hadn’t even brushed his hair; it was still sleep-tousled, and he had forgotten to finish lacing one boot. There were daggers strapped to his hips, of course.

“Oh, Shaw, you ridiculous fool,” Flynn muttered. He knelt down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Giving it a gentle shake, he said, “Shaw? Wake up.”

Shaw came to with a gasp, already reaching for his daggers. It wasn’t the first time Flynn had been forced to wake him, and he was well accustomed to the dangers of doing so, as well as how to avoid them. He quickly put a hand on Shaw’s wrist to stop him.

“Just me,” he said. He was reminded of a mission in Nazmir and some very inconsiderate blood trolls. Naps had been something of a luxury, then.

Shaw rubbed an eye with his knuckles and failed to stifle a yawn. “Flynn?”

“If you’re surprised to see me, I’ll remind you that you’re sleeping outside my room.”

“I was keeping watch.”

“Over what, the backs of your eyelids?”

“Something like that,” Shaw mumbled. He pushed off from the floor and stretched. Flynn followed him up. “What are you doing out here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Shaw looked stricken, and Flynn chose to spare him the guilt, though he couldn’t fathom why. “Nothing you said,” he assured him.

“About that…”

He waved off the attempted apology. “I was angry. As recently as two minutes ago, in fact. But I’m past it now.”

“You work fast.”

“It’s not every day you find a man keeping vigil outside your door. What were you watching for, anyway?” He beckoned Shaw inside the room and shut the door so they wouldn’t end up waking half the inn.

“The mage.”

“You think he’ll come for me here? In the middle of Boralus?”

Shaw looked at him curiously. “You weren’t worried?” he asked.

“About the mage? Not really. Figure the busiest part of the city has got to be about the safest place for miles, short of Proudmoore Keep itself. Or your ship. And since you hadn’t extended the offer to stay there…”

“I didn’t think you would want to stay.”

Now it was Flynn’s turn to be confused. “Why would you think that?”

“I…” Shaw began. He ran a hand through his hair—doing more good than anything, really—and grimaced. “I know I was an ass.”

“Oh good, I was afraid I’d have to be the one to point it out.”

That earned him a frown, but at least it was better than forced indifference. “There are things you need to know. About what happened. And why. About—”

“Let’s skip the bit where we dance around our feelings for the next three chapters and just jump to the last page of this little drama, shall we? Come to bed.”

Shaw stared at him, his mouth working silently. Mostly he just opened and closed it over and over.

Flynn peeled off his clothes until he was down to just his underwear, and then he started unlacing the top of Shaw’s shirt for him. “We can just keep each other warm if you like, or we can do a little more. It’s up to you.”

“But why—?”

“Blame the curse, I don’t think I can sleep anymore unless I’m curled up somewhere warm. Isn’t that odd? It’s only been a few days, but some part of me still feels like a cat. I’m even craving chicken. Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yes. How did you know? I didn’t even know.”

Flynn laughed. He sat down on the bed and pulled Shaw with him. They landed with Shaw kneeling astride Flynn’s thighs, holding onto his shoulders with the same utterly bewildered look on his face. “Because I know you, Spymaster. Because you’re my friend. And because you bite your lip when you’re embarrassed. You did it before, in your cabin.” He kneaded Shaw’s hips with his thumbs, making him wiggle a bit. That was fun.

The first kiss was tentative, and Shaw barely did any of the work. He let Flynn come to him, and only after they had broken apart to get their bearings did he really throw himself into it. He buried a hand in Flynn’s hair and wrapped an arm around his back to hold him tight, yielding without a fight when Flynn prompted him to open his mouth. He tasted like sweet whiskey.

“Been in the stores, have we?” Flynn mumbled against the side of his mouth when they parted again.

“Couldn’t sleep either,” Shaw whispered. He turned his head to try and capture Flynn’s mouth again, but Flynn dodged him easily.

“I recommend a cat,” he said, grinning. “They’re excellent companions. Very relaxing.”

Shaw snorted lightly. “I would beg to differ.” He shifted closer, bringing more of his body in contact with Flynn’s. His cock pressed against Flynn’s stomach, begging to be touched, and he rocked forward seeking a little more friction. It was nice… until it suddenly wasn’t.

A hot spike of pain drove into Flynn’s hip and he jerked back. “ _Shit!_ ” he hissed.

Shaw jumped out of his lap as though he’d been burned. “What’s wrong?”

“My hip, it’s…” He shook his head and grimaced. Fortunately, the pain had already dulled to an angry throb. It would fade in a minute or two. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Shaw’s face fell, and he went white as a sheet. “Flynn…”

“It’s alright, we’ve just got to be careful, that’s all. I’m still healing.” Some of his enthusiasm had faded, but he was still plenty interested in where they had been headed before that unfortunate setback. He held his arms open and beckoned Shaw closer. “Come back.”

“I can’t do this to you.”

Flynn shot him a lecherous smirk. “I’m more than happy to have it the other way ‘round, mate.”

“No, Fairwind, damn it, I can’t take this—DON’T say it.” Shaw started pacing the room, more agitated than ever. At least he was still shirtless. “I can’t just take what I want from you, not after what I did.”

“Oh, by the _tides_ , man, we’ve been over this! It was an ambush, I don’t blame you!”

Shaw shook his head. “You don’t blame me _now_ , but you will.”

“You’re a seer now, are you?” Flynn snorted. “You had one little look inside my head and suddenly you’re an expert on how I think.” He pointedly ignored that he had made the same sort of assumptions regarding Shaw. He’d been wrong anyway. That meant it didn’t count.

Shaw had stopped pacing, and he was looking at Flynn like a man facing down his own executioner. “It won’t get better,” he said gravely.

“What won’t?”

“The pain. I felt it, right before she changed you back. You were in pain, and you were trying to hide it, but you couldn’t hide it from me.” He came over and sat down next to Flynn. There was still a gloom about him, as though he was delivering news of a recent death. “That pain is going to be there forever, Flynn. Wyrmbane healed as much as he could, and he almost killed you in the process. There wasn’t anything left that he could have done. The Light can mend you, but the damage was still done.”

While Shaw spoke, Flynn looked at him— _really_ looked at him. He was exhausted. He had dark circles under his eyes, and though most of his worst wounds had finally been healed, the smaller cuts and bruises that dotted his skin were still clear as day. Wyrmbane must have needed more time to recover from the night before. Flynn once again thanked the Tidemother that he couldn’t remember most of it.

He reached out and picked Shaw’s hand out of his lap, placing it in his own. He remembered being stroked with those fingers, how gentle they were, and how they seemed to hone in on all the best spots to scratch. Like Shaw knew. Like it was instinct.

“I know,” he said.

Shaw turned to him, and Flynn could see his confusion.

“I wasn’t hiding it from you,” he explained, “I was hiding it from myself.”

“You… What?”

“It’s typically referred to as _denial_ , Spymaster,” he said wryly.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Not at all. But it’s not so bad, really. Doesn’t even hurt most of the time.” To emphasize his point, Flynn slapped his thigh up near his hip. “I imagine there will be days I’ll notice it, days I won’t. I am absolutely _livid_ that it interrupted that little show of wanton passion earlier. That was really something. Think we could try it again?”

Shaw scoffed. “Only you, Fairwind—”

“Yeah,” Flynn said, “I’ve known that for a while.”

Shaw woke the next afternoon aching and exhausted, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. He needed a bath and some coffee, followed swiftly by breakfast, assuming Fairwind was game. Or awake.

They had fallen asleep together some time in the early hours of the morning, wrapped in each other’s arms. Flynn hadn’t seemed to have any trouble sleeping with Shaw there, and Shaw had discovered much the same was true for himself. Although, it had taken him some time to drift off, lying with Flynn, watching him sleep peacefully. Another little selfish indulgence.

He had eventually rolled over in the night, accustomed to sleeping in a certain position—one that placed him facing the door, typically—but he could still feel the warmth of Flynn’s body against his back. Blinking at the low light from the shuttered window, he arched into a long, languid stretch, rolling over onto his side as he did so. He found the pillow beside his empty, and a small, furry body curled up on the bed beside him.

Flynn blinked slowly and opened his mouth for a yawn, bearing sharp white fangs and a little pink tongue.

_“They never look the same in the morning, do they,”_ he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep meaning to thank Drago, who has been looking over each chapter for me as I write them, along with Prod, Nik, Eria, and Val, who no longer gets to see them early because I want to torment her with the final product instead.

“But why is he still a _cat?_ ” Shaw demanded.

 _“If you want to be specific, I’m a cat_ again _.”_

“I don’t know,” Jaina said. She sounded as frustrated as Shaw. “It should have worked. It _did_ work. There is no reason that he should have reverted back to his transfigured form.”

“But he _did_. Your spell failed.”

Jaina narrowed her eyes at Shaw. “Perhaps you should watch your tone, Spymaster.”

Flynn flicked his tail on Shaw’s behalf. _“She ought to be apologizing to the both of us. We’re the unsatisfied customers here.”_

But Shaw backed off, and he dipped his chin in apology. After taking a moment to compose himself, he asked, “Is he going to be like this permanently?” Flynn could hear him struggling to keep an even tone. He was obviously agitated, and his scent practically reeked of anxiety.

“The curse may end on its own,” Jaina said. Flynn could tell there was a _but_ in there somewhere when she sighed. “Or it could last until it’s properly removed. There is no way to be sure without determining its origins.”

Shaw buried his face in his hands and made an exasperated sound. He came back up looking exhausted. “Is there anywhere else we could look?”

“You said that Brother Pike mentioned the Drust. I have some experience with their magic. I will reach out to the Order of Embers and request whatever literature or information they may have regarding Drust rituals and spells.” She put a comforting hand on Shaw’s shoulder. Obviously, she had forgiven his earlier temper already. “Their order is ancient, Shaw. If anyone has the answers, it’s probably them. Don’t lose hope just yet.”

She left, closing the cabin door behind her, and Shaw sat down on the bed with his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Flynn rubbed against his shin and purred. _“Nothing you need to apologize for. Not like you turned me back into a cat.”_

“Unless I did.”

 _“Oh, now that’s a new one.”_ Flynn hopped up onto the bed beside him. _“‘Local man’s tongue so powerful it can cast ancient Drust curses.’”_

He caught the faintest blush as it crept across Shaw’s freckled cheeks. It was a lovely look on him, really. “It’s that sort of comment that makes me grateful no one else can hear you.”

 _“Think plenty of people heard us last night.”_ If he’d had eyebrows, Flynn would have waggled them suggestively. He had to settle for rubbing his cheek against Shaw’s arm instead.

“It’s somewhat off-putting discussing our… activities… while you’re a cat.”

Flynn sat down again and wrapped his tail around his legs. It surprised him how much he’d missed having a tail. Or maybe that was just the lingering curse, making him think something was wrong when it really wasn’t. _“Would you rather I kept those thoughts to myself until I’m sorted again?”_ he asked.

It took a moment, and Flynn could tell he was struggling with his answer, but finally Shaw nodded. “Yes, I would. I’m sorry.”

_“Still nothing to be sorry for. But you could make it up to me.”_

Shaw sat up and looked at him. He smirked, which was half of a smile, at least. “Let me guess, you're hungry?” he asked. “You know, for a human, you certainly act a great deal like a cat.”

_“Might as well lean into it, right?”_

  
Wyrmbane gave Shaw another week’s leave to handle the business with Flynn’s curse. They all knew it was more of an indefinite extension, but Flynn had a feeling Shaw would have balked at anything more specific. Jaina had said she would research the possibility of his curse being something cooked up by the Drust, but that didn’t mean she would find anything, or that she would find it _soon_. It seemed, at least for the time being, Flynn was left with no choice but to resume his life as a cat.

And that meant wearing a collar.

“I had them make some modifications,” Shaw explained one morning a few days later. He was sitting at his desk, still in his underwear.

Flynn rolled onto his back and watched Shaw work upside down. _“Did they make it less itchy?”_ he asked.

“I had the inside lined for you. Hopefully that will take care of any discomfort.”

_“You spoil me.”_

“There are two connection points now,” he went on to explain. Like he was giving a mission briefing. “The buckle, and this ring.” He held the collar up by a dull silver ring that sat beside the gold buckle. It looked like pewter. “It’s for your safety.”

_“I assume that’s meant to give if something or someone grabs me by the collar?”_

“You are correct. It is _not_ a way for you to remove the collar on your own. It’s for emergencies only, Flynn. Life or death.”

Emergencies like ‘Shaw forgot to remove his collar before bedtime,’ more like. _“Got it.”_

Shaw hesitated for a moment, and then said, “I left the tag as it was. Everyone aboard knows who you are now, but it seemed…”

 _“You sentimental fool,”_ Flynn teased. He leapt from the bed to the desk, skidding across an unused piece of parchment. _“Go ahead. Put it on me.”_

“I suppose you can’t really put it on yourself.”

_“Aye, and for the same reason I couldn’t offer to bring you coffee back at the inn: no thumbs.”_

Shaw slipped the collar over his head and carefully secured the buckle. It felt much better than before; the soft suede on the inside slid gently against his fur, instead of digging into it and irritating his skin. The metal loop also gave him a bit more room, which helped. _“Not bad.”_

“I’m glad you approve.”

Flynn flopped his tail around a few times and gave himself a shake to settle out his fur. Yes, the collar was much better now. _“So, when do we leave?”_ he asked once he had groomed himself a bit.

“Sorry?”

_“Drustvar. When do we leave? And do you think we could ask for Caper again? I liked him.”_

Shaw looked aghast at the mere suggestion. “We aren’t going to Drustvar, Flynn, have you lost your mind?”

_“Why not?”_

“You almost died in Stormsong, and that mage is still out there. I am not taking you to a part of Kul Tiras known for animal and human sacrifices!”

_“Because I’m both?”_

“Because you’re—yes, that too, but because you’re not safe there, Flynn. You’re barely safe here.”

 _“Nonsense, I’m plenty safe here. I’ve got the Alliance vanguard, Wyrmbane, and don’t tell me you’re not convinced Shandris could kill everyone aboard with her eyes closed.”_ He stepped forward just enough to mash his forehead against Shaw’s chin. _“And I’ve also got you. Nothing is going to happen to me.”_

“Flynn.”

_“Oh, come on, that’s just cat stuff, it’s not even proper flirting.”_

* * *

  
  
Shaw kept up with Jaina’s research efforts for the first few days, sending regular messages to the keep until Jaina responded with a politely worded suggestion that he back off before she froze his writing hand. After that he waited patiently—or as patiently as he could manage—and eventually he returned to his duties, though there was hardly any work to be done. But he read the reports and responded, sent agents into the field to investigate anything that might be deemed remotely of interest, and continued waiting.

Days turned into weeks, and then weeks became a month and a half. Flynn spent most of his time aboard the ship when he wasn’t scampering about the harbor. Shaw had asked him not to range any farther than that, and Flynn had, after a fairly protracted argument, agreed to his request. He ate and slept, and after a while the ship was free of rats, which was an improvement everyone aboard could appreciate. No attempts were made to attack him in Boralus. None that Shaw knew of, at any rate, and he knew just about everything that happened in that city. All he _didn’t_ know, as far as he could tell, was the status of Jaina’s research into Drust magic, and the possibility of using it to breaking Flynn’s curse.

They were just coming up on three months when news came from Stormwind in the form of a missive, the blue wax seal stamped with the lion of Stormwind. A welcome sight at any other time.

“King Anduin has recalled the fleet,” Wyrmbane informed them as they gathered around the map table.

“What’s left of it,” Jes-Tereth muttered bitterly.

Shandris nodded. “We will no doubt require the aid of the Kul Tirans to transport our remaining soldiers and other personnel.”

“Aye,” Falstad agreed. He turned to look up at Shaw. “Perhaps we might use Cap’n Flynn’s vessel? If ye want tae ask, that is.”

“I will bring the matter up with him,” Shaw said. Privately, he thought the odds were about fifty-fifty that Flynn would balk at the very notion of someone else sailing his ship, let alone an entire Alliance crew. Wanting to cram the hold full of exhausted, homesick soldiers and other gear would not help matters, either.

The round-table discussion continued without him while he contemplated the move back to the Eastern Kingdoms. There were risks and benefits to returning, but just as many presented themselves if he stayed. For one thing, Flynn would be safer in Stormwind, Shaw was certain of that much. Especially if he could manage to procure some kind of guard for him. Perhaps one of Greymane’s people. He would have to speak to King Anduin about it first, of course.

But if he chose to remain behind after the fleet set sail? Jaina would offer them whatever help she could, certainly, but what else remained but weeks or months—he shuddered to think _years_ —spent waiting for a solution? And where would they stay? In Proudmoore Keep? With Taelia Fordragon or Cyrus Crestfall? Kul Tiras was Flynn’s home, but what could it offer him in his current state besides risk?

He knew that Wyrmbane could sense his agitation, which was why he beckoned Shaw to a quiet spot on the main deck once the briefing was concluded. “I doubt the king will force you to return, Mathias, but you must consider your responsibilities in Stormwind. Captain Fairwind could always accompany you home.”

“This _is_ his home, Halford,” Shaw insisted. “It’s bad enough he’s resorted to catching rats. What would you have him do in Stormwind? In a city he’s never been to before?”

“I imagine the captain is adaptable enough to survive a temporary relocation. And he has you.”

That hit remarkably close to home, and the reassurance Flynn had tried to offer. While he had never shared the details of his one night spent with Flynn as a human, or the strange relationship that had developed since, Shaw had begun to suspect that others aboard were aware of their feelings for one another. Flynn wasn’t exactly circumspect in his affection, even if it did often seem as though he was simply acting out the part of a loyal pet, and Shaw had done a terrible job of hiding his own feelings. He was overprotective and openly affectionate; two things he had never been known for prior to Flynn’s transformation. People noticed that sort of thing. Looking back on some of his interactions with the others, specifically Jaina, Shaw was almost certain they all knew. One or two might have even known before he did, which was just doubly humiliating.

“I will have far more to do in Stormwind than I do here,” he explained, “I won’t have time for him.”

“It’s a large city, Mathias. He’ll make do.”

The trouble was, he had a point. Several, in fact. Shaw could ask for an extended leave of absence, but if King Anduin was calling them home then he was doing it for a reason. He would no doubt need his spymaster. Flynn, on the other hand, was a sailor, and well accustomed to making his home wherever the winds carried him. He probably wouldn’t mind a few weeks in Stormwind. Hopefully it wouldn’t be any longer than that.

He returned to his cabin to find Flynn batting his favorite quill around the floor. “I’ve asked you not to do that,” he said, picking it up. He had to hold Flynn back to keep him from continuing to lunge at the feather. That was happening more and more lately, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

 _“Dinner time?”_ Flynn asked. He didn’t bother apologizing for the quill.

Shaw sighed. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

He retrieved their meals from the galley—a bowl of broth and some meat for Flynn, and something a bit more balanced for himself—and they ate in silence. Flynn buried his face in the bowl and didn’t come up until he was through, licking the fur around his mouth and looking around as though he expected more. Shaw had noticed that he no longer seemed so intent on picking up food with his paws, and instead ate straight from whatever bowl or plate he was given. It was easier, he supposed. When they were both through eating he collected the dishes and set them aside. It was time for a potentially uncomfortable conversation.

“Flynn, we need to talk,” he said.

 _“Oh, I’ve heard this one before. We need to see other people, right? It’s not me, it’s you?”_ He could tell Flynn was amused, but his humor was only a front for genuine concern.

“It’s nothing like that. I would at least wait until you no longer had claws to give you that speech,” he said, trying to ease Flynn’s mind with a joke of his own.

_“Well, that’s good to know. So what’s the problem?”_

“The king wants us home.” He paused to clear his throat. “All of us.”

Flynn blinked up at him. He was sitting on the table across from Shaw, both paws tucked under his chest. _“I take that to mean you’re leaving as well.”_

“I don’t have much of a choice.”

 _“No, I suppose you don’t.”_ He extended a paw and gave it a few quick licks, tucking it back under his chest again once he was done. His tail swept back and forth behind him. _“Well,”_ he said after a moment, _“that’s that, then. How long ‘til the fleet sets sail?”_

“This time next week,” Shaw said. He tried to ignore the uncomfortable clench in his chest. Flynn had asked about _the fleet’s_ departure, not _theirs_. Did that mean he intended to stay? Where would he live, and how would anyone help him when they couldn’t understand anything he was saying? “Flynn…” he began, and that clench gave way to an uncomfortable somersault in his stomach. “Come with me?”

Flynn looked at him, and though he couldn’t see any sort of expression, Shaw thought he seemed weary. Was Flynn tired of his company already? It made sense, he supposed; living with one person day after day, being dependent on them, having no one else to talk to… Minor flaws that were easily overlooked could turn into unbearable differences under such scrutiny. And he had flaws to spare. Some that a man like Flynn Fairwind might not be willing to overlook.

 _“You look like you’re being told to walk a plank,”_ Flynn said.

“In a manner of speaking, I feel like I am. Is that your answer?”

Flynn cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes just a bit before he suddenly pinned his ears back and said, _“Oh! You were really asking!”_

Shaw didn’t quite know what to say to that. Had Flynn thought he’d been joking?

_“I figured I didn’t have much of a choice, what with the small stature and all. Thought you would just scoop me up and bring me along with you.”_

“You always have a choice, Flynn, and I’ll respect it. Whatever it is. If you want to stay, I’ll do my best to see to it you’re looked after.”

 _“Well, Kul Tiras is home,”_ Flynn said.

Something turned cold in Shaw’s gut, and he looked away so that Flynn wouldn’t see his disappointment. It had been a foolish thought after all. Of course Flynn didn’t want to go with him to Stormwind. “I understand,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll see if I can arrange for Lady Jaina to—”

_“But so are you.”_

Shaw froze. After what felt like far too long he managed to make himself ask, “What?”

If cats could turn red, Shaw was certain that Flynn would have been scarlet. He felt a wave of shyness that almost made _him_ blush. He never would have expected anything like it from Flynn Fairwind. _“Don’t make me say it again,”_ Flynn mumbled, ducking his gaze away from Shaw’s. _“There’s no one place for me, Mathias. Never has been. So I’ll go wherever you do, at least as long as you’ll have me. That’s all I really need.”_ The nervous, almost bashful impression left by his words was enough to make Shaw reach out and pull him into his arms. He held Flynn close to his chest, chin resting atop his head. With one hand he gently stroked Flynn’s back.

“That means… That means a great deal to me,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”  
  
  
  


They set sail for Stormwind the following week, as planned. Shaw, having no practical sailing experience to speak of, largely kept to his cabin. He wasn’t fond of the water as a rule. He much preferred dry land, which stayed where it was meant to at least most of the time, if not always.

Flynn, on the other hand, was beside himself with what Shaw could only describe as _manic exuberance_. He was clawing his way up the rigging, dashing about the deck, and more than once Shaw was convinced he was about to careen over the side and into the sea, but he never did. He moved about the _Wind’s Redemption_ like the experienced sailor he was, albeit with two extra legs, never once losing his footing. On the second day, just after a light storm, Shaw found him high above in the crow’s nest. Flynn was facing the wind, his fur blowing about in the wind. He looked happier than Shaw had seen him in months.

At night they dined with the rest of the crew, and Flynn quickly charmed them all, as he so often did with those he met. The stories he shared with them through Shaw turned out to be wildly popular as well, despite how obviously untrue at least half of them were. It seemed even tall tales were a welcome relief from the monotony of a sea voyage.

Shaw himself wasn’t a particularly outgoing person, of course, but he understood that Flynn was. Flynn craved human interaction, and he needed it from more than one source. It seemed like helping him meet that need was the very least Shaw could do. And if he made some new acquaintances along the way, well, it wasn’t the end of the world.

 _“You could use some friends if you ask me,”_ Flynn told him one night as they sat on the deck together, finishing off a meal of salted fish.

“I didn’t ask you,” Shaw pointed out. He shot Flynn a wry smile over a handful of fish.

_“What’s stopped you before?”_

That was a complicated question, with an even more complicated answer. He brushed the remnants of his meal from his fingers and leaned back on his palms. They were sitting in a corner near the mainmast, and Flynn was curled up inside a coil of rope. It was cozy enough, and blessedly private. Two things in short supply on a ship at sea. “No inclination,” he said. It was an evasive answer, but he was an evasive man. It was in his nature.

 _“You’ve had friends before, surely?”_ Flynn prompted.

Too many. And too many who were dead, either by his hand, his orders, or his mistakes. Flynn had almost been added to that tally, and Shaw thanked the Light every day that he woke up to find him still there. Even if he was a cat. “A few,” was all he said.

_“Name one. I need to know that you’ve had at least one friend before me. Though, it would be quite a feather in my cap to be the first.”_

He had to think about that. What made someone a friend, anyway? If it was trust, then there were precious few he could name in recent memory. Perhaps in his youth, but… Well, things didn’t always last. That was life. “I suppose, if one can be friends with their king, then I would say Varian was my friend.”

_“Did you ever do anything together?”_

Shaw arched a meaningful eyebrow at him, and Flynn rushed to correct himself. _“I meant the sort of things friends do, you scoundrel!”_

“ _We’re_ friends,” Shaw pointed out. He enjoyed needling Flynn, even if it probably meant he would wake up to find something in his cabin shredded to bits.

 _“I mean—blast it, Shaw, you know what I mean! Fishing, hunting, chess, that sort of thing!”_ He threw his tail around angrily, and Shaw couldn’t help but find it charming.

“Did I ever go fishing with King Varian?” he asked.

Flynn gave a mental shrug. _“Well? Did you?”_

“No. I did not go fishing with the king. We did undertake a few missions together, however.”

 _“Oh, well, you were practically brothers,”_ Flynn drolled. _“Anyone else?”_

It really should have embarrassed him, how difficult it was to call upon any memory of true friendships in his life. But it only left him feeling somewhat disappointed, instead. Not to mention unexpectedly nostalgic; he had never before considered that he might miss so many of the people he’d lost, regardless of how he lost them. In fact, he had done his best not to think of them, perhaps for that very reason. “Wyrmbane,” he said. “And before you ask, no, we don’t go fishing either.”

_“Can’t really picture him with a pole in his hand, if I’m being honest.”_

Shaw watched him, waiting. He kept his expression perfectly neutral.

Flynn suddenly groaned. _“Oh, come on! You know I didn’t mean it like that!”_

* * *

The first thing Flynn noticed about Stormwind was that it smelled different.

He had been expecting that, of course; new city, new smells. But for all that it looked nothing like Boralus, it was still a coastal city. The harbor was a bit less sheltered, the view less rustic, but that was about the extent of it. He did find himself wondering where they had managed to find so much white stone. He thought it must be absolutely blinding in the sunlight.

They had reached the Eastern Kingdoms just after dawn, with the hazy morning sun still rising over the towering gray outline of the cathedral above. Flynn had expected the warmer weather, but if pressed, he would have admitted that he’d at least hoped it wouldn’t be raining. Kul Tiras saw lots of rain—perhaps more than its fair share. He had never much cared one way or another as a man, but as a cat… 

_“So, where’s your place in all this built-upon madness?”_ he asked Shaw as they ascended the steps from the harbor. Rain ran in small rivers down the middle, where the stones were the most worn.

“Old Town,” answered Shaw, “but we aren’t going there.”

_“If you intend to stop at another pet shop, I demand a bed of my own.”_

Shaw looked thoughtful for a second, but then he shook his head. “I need to report to the king before I do anything else.” He hefted his bag over his shoulder and marched on through the rain. It still surprised Flynn that the man traveled so light, though he supposed that was the one thing he probably should have expected of a master spy.

 _“A royal audience, eh?”_ he mused. _“Suppose I’ll have to be on my best behavior.”_

“Please.”

It wasn’t much of a walk from the docks to the city proper, even with the rain, but all the stairs had Flynn’s hip aching something terrible by the time they finally reached level ground. He muttered a few complaints under his (figurative) breath, and then promptly remembered that it didn’t matter how quiet he was in his own head, because Shaw was camped out in the dead center of his mind and would know right away that something was wrong.

Sure enough, only a few seconds later he was scooped up in Shaw’s arms and held against his left shoulder. Not so very comfortable with the leather armor and needlessly ornate pauldrons, but Flynn managed to get himself settled well enough. Shaw’s arm was under his back legs, giving him plenty of support, and so he was able to simply watch the city pass by as they made their way to the keep.

No one stopped them on their way inside, and Flynn assumed that was because they either knew Shaw, or knew how dangerous he was. Possibly a combination of both. Beside the entrance to the throne room, at the other end of a ridiculously long hallway, stood two women in far more ornate livery than those before. Royal guards, Flynn assumed. They opened the large, arching doors for Shaw, and then Flynn found himself in a round room with a vaulted ceiling, watched by a dozen sets of eyes. Each one no doubt ready to give his or her life for the young man sitting atop a dais flanked by four golden lions.

That must be the king, then.

“Master Shaw,” the king said, rising from his throne. “It’s been some time.”

“Your Majesty.” Shaw dipped for a bow and carefully deposited Flynn on the floor at the same time. It was polished marble—very nice.

The king shot Flynn a curious glance. “I assume this must be Captain Fairwind?” he asked Shaw.

Flynn didn’t have time to wonder how the king of Stormwind had come to know who he was, let alone that he had been turned into a cat, before he was being scratched behind the ears by royal fingers. “His transformation is quite something,” the king said.

“Your Majesty, he is a man,” Shaw reminded him. He sounded _very_ uncomfortable.

“I know.” The king, who had crouched down to reach Flynn’s level, looked up at Shaw. “That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy a good scratch, does it?”

“I… suppose not.”

 _“He’s an odd one,”_ Flynn said. He turned his head to let the king reach his left cheek. That was the good spot. _“I like him.”_

He could almost feel Shaw’s disapproving stare, but frankly, what was he going to do? Yell at his own king the way he had yelled at his commanding officer? Actually, that sounded like just the sort of thing Shaw _would_ do.

 _“Alright, that’s enough,”_ Flynn said, pulling away from the king’s hand. _“Wouldn’t want Shaw getting jealous.”_

“Flynn!” Shaw snapped. He straightened up immediately and said to the king, “I apologize for his behavior, Your Majesty.”

The king blinked at Shaw, and Flynn could see the barest hint of a smile forming on his lips. Oh, he _really_ liked this fellow. Someone willing to take the piss out of Shaw and pretend as though nothing was wrong? Yes, he had a feeling he would enjoy being in Stormwind with this king running things.

“Master Shaw,” the king said, “just what is it you’re apologizing _for?_ ”

Shaw blinked a few times before he finally seemed to remember that he was the only one in the room who could actually hear what Flynn was saying. He shoulders slumped and he sighed. “I may as well apologize in advance, then. You will understand once he’s human again.”

_“I take great offense to that.”_

He was shushed by Shaw, who turned back to the king. “If there’s nothing else you need from me, I have paperwork to catch up on. A lot of it.”

“Of course. You will be able to attend the briefing?”

Ever a man of few words, Shaw nodded. He turned on his heel and started striding back toward the door, and Flynn followed. They hadn’t made it more than a few paces before Shaw stopped again. He looked down. “Flynn?”

_“Something wrong?”_

“You’re not coming,” he said, as though that was something Flynn should have known already.

_“What do you mean?”_

“You’re staying here. Don’t you remember?” He crouched down so that they were closer to eye level. “I explained this last night.”

_“I don’t remember any discussion where I agreed to become the royal pet.”_

“King Anduin has offered to look after you for now. I have work to do, Flynn. I can’t be there to protect you, and there are plenty of guards here.” He frowned. “Why don’t you remember what I told you?”

 _“I’ve no idea, but I’d think I would if it had happened. Are you sure you didn’t dream it? I know you dream about me.”_ He flicked his tail and tried to give Shaw a suggestive leer, but he was afraid it only came out looking like he was trying not to sneeze.

Shaw ignored the question. “We’ll talk about this after the briefing tonight,” he said. “Stay with King Anduin for now, please.” Then he pulled out the really dirty tricks and added, “For me.”

 _“Oh, you…”_ Flynn sighed and sat back on his haunches. _“Fine,”_ he groused, _“but I’m not catching mice here. I did that as a courtesy aboard the Redemption.”_

“I wouldn’t expect you to. And Stormwind Keep doesn’t have mice.”

_“Every keep has mice.”_

“Not this one.”

_“Oh, we’ll see about that.”_

He took a few seconds to enjoy Shaw’s puzzled and slightly worried expression before he turned around and bounded back over to the throne, where King Anduin had taken a seat again. He promptly hopped up onto one of the golden lions and hummed happily—just enough so that he was sure Shaw would catch exactly how satisfied with himself he was.

  
Anduin—who had insisted that Flynn think of him as Anduin and continue to refer to him as such even after he was changed back into a human—was a decent lad, as it turned out. He was kind and considerate, and apparently in dire need of a pet.

Flynn had been playing with the tassels on his coat from the armrest of the throne while the king looked over some curled up scroll. It was a lazy way to pass the morning, but he supposed it could have been worse. He could have been cooped up in SI:7 headquarters with Shaw and his paperwork. Perhaps the man had had a point about leaving him with the king.

He was just thinking about how he might communicate his need for food and water when the specter of the wolf-monster from his nightmares appeared in the rightmost doorway. Flynn hissed and arched as he leapt from the throne, all of his fur going straight up in every direction. He slowly backed away facing the creature that lumbered toward him with its fanged snarl and menacing, bright gold eyes.

“Captain, this is King Greymane of Gilneas,” Anduin said gently. He had placed himself between the two of them, facing neither. His blond head whipped back and forth as he held Greymane at bay with one hand. “I believe you two may have met already.”

 _“Don’t know about that one,”_ Flynn said. The Greymane he remembered had been a great deal shorter, for one thing. Also, not a bloody _wolf_. He remained crouched in a defensive arch, prepared to flee toward the open garden at his back if need be.

“What the devil is that doing here?” the wolf demanded.

“Genn, would you please assume your human form?” Anduin asked. He was still keeping his tone gentle and soothing, despite issuing an order that he very clearly expected to be obeyed.

The creature watched Flynn a moment longer, and then he nodded his great big furry head. In a cascade of smoke that was _definitely_ the magical sort, he was abruptly a human. His gray hair matched his fur, but his eyes were a far less threatening blue. He was indeed the man Flynn recalled from the few times they had crossed paths in Boralus.

Flynn felt far from reassured, however. If Greymane could change that quickly, he could change _back_ just the same. He remained on alert, ears pinned back and tail curled at his side. It would have been convenient if Anduin could understand him, but alas, Shaw clearly hadn’t thought of that little detail during the conversation Flynn was still certain never happened.

“King Greymane is afflicted with the worgen curse,” Anduin explained. “You must have served with a number of his people in Kul Tiras over the past several months.”

A few that Flynn could recall, but they hadn’t been so… large. And terrifying. Was Greymane just worse because he was their king?

“Genn and his Greyguard will be part of your protection, Captain. They will be able to sense any trouble long before my own guards do. You have nothing to fear from any of them.”

“You might have told me about this,” Greymane muttered under his breath.

“I had intended to,” Anduin replied, looking slightly chagrined. “I was a bit… distracted.”

“Playing with a cat?” Greymane crossed his arms and _harrumphed_. “Who is this, anyway? I can smell the magic on him.”

“This is Captain Flynn Fairwind of Kul Tiras. He’s my guest. Jaina is currently working on a way to help lift his curse, which, as you may have guessed, has left him in this form.”

Greymane still looked confused, but now he was also scowling. “Anduin, surely there are better places to house him?” There was an unspoken question of Flynn’s significance—his _worth_ —in there, and it was obvious enough that even Flynn could pick up on it.

“He is Master Shaw’s friend.”

Greymane scoffed. “Shaw has friends?”

“Genn! He is Shaw’s _friend_.”

It took him a moment, but Greymane finally caught on. Never let it be said that mainlanders were the brightest folk. “Ah, I see. I hadn’t realized he had _those_ , either. Well, just what is it my people are meant to protect him from? Is he in some sort of trouble?”

 _“Besides being a cat?”_ Flynn asked snidely. He _really_ wished they could hear him.

“It’s complicated,” Anduin said. “Shaw was brief in his letter, but I’m certain he will be happy to explain the situation in greater detail after the briefing tonight.”

What was this briefing they kept mentioning? And was he going to be allowed to attend? If he was going to play the part of royal house cat, then he demanded a seat at the table. Or on the table, actually. Easier to see.

“Complicated,” Greymane echoed. He _harrumphed_ again, and Flynn decided that was probably his favorite sound. What a disagreeable, cantankerous old man. It was no wonder his people did so well behind a wall. Or not, apparently.

“I will leave you to your guest,” Greymane said, making some sort of vague gesture at Flynn.

Anduin turned back to Flynn and crouched down. “It’s alright, Captain,” he said. “He really won’t harm you. You have my word.”

Flynn started to rise from his crouch, thinking he might just take the young king at his word, and then the next thing he knew he was pinned to the floor beneath Anduin’s hands, blood on the marble tiles beneath him. The guards who had been standing post around the room were now hovering around them, but Anduin was waving them off. “It’s alright!” he insisted. “Back away!”

 _“What the hell just happened?!”_ Flynn demanded frantically. Then he spotted the torn cuff of Anduin’s coat, and the long furrows in his forearm, still welling red with fresh blood. Claw marks. Had _he_ done that to the king?

“Someone fetch Shaw,” Anduin ordered. He was holding Flynn firmly, but still gently enough that it didn’t hurt. “Quickly!”

Flynn stopped struggling in his grip, but it didn’t seem as though Anduin was willing to let him go. He still didn’t know what had happened to put those gashes in the king’s arm, or how he’d come to be pinned to the floor of the throne room.

Shaw arrived a few minutes later, and Flynn thought he must have still been somewhere in the keep if he could reach them so quickly. He saw Flynn under Anduin’s hands, saw the blood on the floor, and then tracked it back to the rip in Anduin’s sleeve and the corresponding wounds.

“Flynn, what have you done?” he half-hissed. “King Anduin—”

“No, Shaw. It wasn’t him. Or rather,” Anduin hesitated, “it was, but it also wasn’t. I don’t know how to explain it, exactly. He wasn’t himself.”

“Flynn?”

 _“I don’t know!”_ Flynn cried. _“That great big bloody wolf came stomping in here, and I thought ‘well, this is how I die, surely,’ but he left. I was alright, Shaw, I was fine! And then—and then this happened!”_ He tried to indicate Anduin’s arm. Tides help him, what did they do to small animals who attacked royalty in Stormwind?

“Do you remember any of it?” Shaw asked.

_“Not a thing, I swear!”_

Shaw ran a hand through his hair—a gesture of frustration that seemed to puzzle Anduin, who gave him a strange look. Evidently, he wasn’t accustomed to seeing his spymaster out of sorts. On any other day that would have tickled Flynn, but this wasn’t exactly the time for idle speculation about Shaw’s lack of a social life. “I’ll take him if you’ll allow me,” he said, stepping forward. “I’m sorry for this.”

“No need to apologize,” Anduin said, finally releasing Flynn. He placed a palm over the bloody furrows in his arm, and like Jaina in Boralus, suddenly his entire body seemed to glow. Only, unlike her magic, the faint light that enveloped Anduin was gold. Flynn had seen the Light in action before, plenty of times, but never quite like that. He wondered if Anduin and Jaina were simply more powerful than those priests and paladins who had fought with them in Zandalar.

“See?” he said, holding up his healed arm. There was still blood all over his skin and sleeve, but it was clear the wounds were gone. “No harm done.”

 _“Tell him I’m sorry,”_ Flynn pleaded. _“Really, I am. I’ve no idea what came over me.”_ Or why. Or even _when_. Anduin had been a few feet away, and then suddenly he was right on top of him, holding him down. When had he even moved?

“He knows,” Shaw said quietly.

Anduin straightened himself and tilted his head in the direction of the door that Greymane had used earlier. “Take him up to one of the guest quarters, Shaw. I’ll be along after I’ve changed.”

Shaw nodded, scooping Flynn into his arms. “Thank you,” he said to Anduin, who only nodded and smiled.

Through the door they entered what Flynn could only assume was the living area of the keep. The first set of stairs took them up and to the right, where a long hallway was set with at least a half dozen doors, all ornately appointed in iron filigree. Shaw ushered him into the first one, but didn’t set him down right away.

“You’re shaking,” he said. His voice was low, like Anduin’s had been—like he was trying to soothe a frightened animal, Flynn realized. The thought was humiliating.

 _“I really don’t know what happened,”_ he said. _“Mathias… I… I’m—”_

“It’s alright,” Shaw reassured him. He scratched Flynn’s neck, and still made no move to set him down anywhere. The blood on Flynn’s fur painted dark streaks across his leather armor. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. “I promise.”

For the first time since meeting Mathias Shaw, Flynn wondered if he could take the man at his word. Not because he believed Shaw was lying to him, but because he didn’t think Shaw could actually keep that promise, no matter how much he wanted to. Whatever was happening, whatever new hell this curse was inflicting upon him—and he had no doubts this was the curse’s doing—it didn’t seem like the sort of thing Flynn could control. He couldn’t even tell it was happening until it was already over. How could Shaw hope to help him with that? How could _anyone_ help him now?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a really special day for me, because it's my birthday AND as of this chapter I have officially posted one million words to AO3!

After he had tried and failed to seek the Light’s aid for Flynn, Anduin called Jaina to Stormwind. She regretfully informed the king and Shaw (and Flynn, of course) that she had made no significant progress in her own efforts to seek a solution, and that the latest changes to Flynn’s situation left her just as baffled as the rest of them. In the meantime, while they pondered over their limited options, Flynn had two more episodes. One left him wandering the halls of the keep in the middle of the night, yowling at the top of his lungs and scratching on doors. Fortunately, a guard had managed to catch him and return him to the room where Shaw was temporarily staying. When he finally came back to himself Flynn was mortified to learn what he’d been doing. However, just like before, he had no actual memory of it happening. What’s more, the episode had been much, much longer than those before it.

After that, it was decided that Flynn should wear his collar even at night. Just to be sure that no matter where he might wander, someone would be able to bring him back. A new tag was stamped at Shaw’s request, this time bearing nothing more than the lion of Stormwind. Flynn, predictably, was incensed by the decision. Even more so that it had been made without him.

_“So I’ve got to sleep with this blasted thing around my neck, do I?”_ he demanded, pacing the room with his tail jumping and flicking wildly behind him. _“Why don’t_ you _try sleeping with a collar, see how you like it. Better yet, a collar with a tag declaring you property of the damned_ king _. That’s ties it all off neatly, doesn’t it?”_

“You’re safer with his crest on your tag, Flynn. I’m sorry. I can’t keep you locked up in here all night, and something could happen while you’re out—”

_“Something like I lose my bloody mind, that sort of something, Shaw? Why not just say it?”_

The weariness that had settled into Shaw’s bones over the past few days had little to do with actual fatigue; he scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed, fighting the tempting pull of sleep. “I’m only trying to protect you,” he said quietly. He had really thought they were past all of this.

_“I can protect myself,”_ Flynn snapped. Shaw didn’t need the bond to know that he didn’t really believe it.

“Flynn, please don’t fight me on this. I don’t…” He worked his jaw around the words a few times before he could make the right sounds to say, “I don’t want to lose you.” He met Flynn’s narrowed gaze and forced himself to hold it. There was a time it might have been difficult—or impossible—to admit what he just had. It was still harder than he knew it should be; a lifetime of mistakes had taught him just how dangerous it was to let someone know how much you needed them. It gave them leverage, and Shaw had never been able to afford that. He was just finding it so hard to care about that at the moment, in light of what was happening.

Flynn felt just as tired and resigned as Shaw when he said, _“You are losing me. A little at a time. We both know what’s happening here.”_

Shaw shook his head. “No, that won’t happen.” He wouldn’t let it happen. They still had options, there was still time. “Jaina will find a way to break the curse,” he insisted.

_“Face the facts, mate. Everyone’s seen how I am when I have one of these spells. There’s a word for what I am when I’m like that.”_

Cat.

Just a cat. No sign of Flynn whatsoever.

Shaw had even looked into his eyes, sought out his feelings during one episode, and found absolutely nothing there. Despite all the noise Flynn was making at the time—and he was very vocal as a cat, which was as endearing as it was troubling—Shaw couldn’t feel a damned thing from him. It was like Flynn Fairwind had ceased to exist.

They both fell silent for a time after that, until Flynn asked, _“What’s going to happen to me?”_

Swallowing back the too-dry feeling in his throat, Shaw said, “I don’t know. But I will take care of you.” He blinked several times, and refused to accept that he was so weak he couldn’t keep his own emotions in check. “No matter what happens, I won’t just leave you somewhere to live like this.”

Flynn, who had moved to sit on the table in front of him, sat up just enough to give Shaw a gentle headbutt. _“You won’t be much of a spy with a cat on your heels.”_

He knew Flynn was trying to retreat behind humor, as he usually did, but laughter was the furthest thing from Shaw’s mind at that moment. “Then I won’t be a spy.”

_“Mathias…”_

“You know,” he said, and he heard the break in his own voice, hating himself for it even though he knew no one would have blamed him even half as much as he blamed himself. “You only ever call me Mathias when you’re worried.”

_“Not true.”_

“Oh?”

_“Probably. I don’t have any direct evidence, but… it doesn’t sound right.”_

Shaw scoffed. “Hardly a solid argument, Fairwind.”

_“And you only ever call me Fairwind when you’re lecturing me.”_

Trying for subtlety, Shaw very casually cleared his throat. Not that it mattered; Flynn could probably smell his grief just like he could smell when people were nervous, or afraid. It was damned inconvenient. “Stop giving me reasons to lecture you,” he said.

The way Flynn was looking at him told Shaw everything he needed to know about just what Flynn knew. He let out a very small, almost wistful sigh. _“I really thought we would have more time. Should’ve said something sooner, I think.”_

That hurt, and Shaw wasn’t able or inclined to hide it. “How long…?” was all he managed to make himself say.

_“Oh, might’ve been the first time you came swaggering up, clenched tight as a clam and full of all that Alliance confidence, and couldn’t disable a Zandalari trap without help. I thought to myself, ‘There’s a man I’d like to see out of control.’”_

“I had a lot on my mind,” Shaw said.

He could feel Flynn’s amusement in his answer. _“So did I. Most of it involved keeping my head on my shoulders and my eyes on you.”_

“It’s a good thing we had someone else there.”

_“Says you. If I’d had my druthers, we would have been well acquainted before the first hallway.”_

Shaw couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image that painted. “You are ridiculous, Fairwind. And this is definitely flirting.”

_“There you are, lecturing me again.”  
  
  
_

* * *

Although Flynn had wanted to see Stormwind for some time, he decided after a while that he really would have preferred to see it as a man, rather than a four-legged ball of fur roughly the size of a knapsack. It wasn’t so much that he was keen on Stormwind itself, really, as understanding the hold it seemed to have on the kingdom’s spymaster. There had been more than a few nights on some thrice-damned mission where he was lulled to sleep by Shaw’s rambling answer to Flynn’s questions about the city. The man seemed to know every street, alley, and rooftop by heart, almost as though he had been right there when they were planned. As far as Flynn knew, Stormwind was the only thing Shaw really loved. Besides his vast and frankly terrifying collection of murder implements, anyway.

But he was beginning to suspect there might be room for more. He hoped there might be. Not that it was going to matter much in a few days—maybe a week or two at most. The episodes were becoming more frequent, and even Flynn was hesitant to leave the safety of the keep anymore. The most he did was lounge around in the garden, where the only trouble his cat-self could get up to was eating too much grass.

He _had_ come to in the library once; scared the piss out of him to find himself cornered by a very angry librarian wielding a large book and threatening to punt him into the lake if he scratched even a single spine. It had been King Anduin who came to his rescue then, because Shaw was busy at SI:7 headquarters. He seemed to be there quite a lot, actually. Ever since that night he’d promised to look after Flynn no matter what, his time in the keep had seemed to grow shorter and shorter, until it reached a point where he was only ever there to sleep.

Despite popular opinion in certain circles, Flynn wasn’t a fool. He knew what was going on. And though he understood it—who really wanted to stay and watch someone they cared for slowly disappear a little bit at a time?—it didn’t make his absence hurt any less.

Anduin was good company, at least, and he seemed to really enjoy having a cat around. Flynn kept meaning to tell Shaw about that, save him some time and trouble next Winter Veil. But with at least one episode a day knocking every other thought clear out of his head, it was proving difficult to keep track of such things.

He was having a fairly decent afternoon for once, simply wandering the many halls of the keep, when he caught the now-familiar scent of Greymane. Just a whiff of the Gilnean sent him skittering around a corner, dashing into an empty room. It wasn’t that he thought King Anduin was lying, that Greymane really meant him harm, but it was just so difficult to convince himself that standing toe to toe with a wolf looming nine feet over his head was a good idea. He might have had less trouble with it before Stormsong, but now… 

It was humiliating, being so frightened of what really was just another man like himself—more or less. He would never admit to his shame, of course, though he was certain Shaw at least knew. Fortunately for him, the man was a vault of his own design, and it took more than prodigious skill to pick those locks. Flynn himself hadn’t even managed to crack the code so much as stumble in blindly while the door was conveniently open. He still wasn’t actually certain how it had happened. Fate was a strange mistress; one day you’re a cat, the next you’re not and you’ve got a spymaster’s head between your thighs. Then you’re a cat again.

At least he could say with absolute certainty that if these were destined to be his final days on Azeroth, they had been interesting indeed.

He hadn’t been hiding in the room but five minutes when the door, which had been left cracked by some careless squire or servant or whoever else inhabited the keep, swung open, and Greymane himself came stomping in. At least he was in his human form. It seemed Anduin’s “request” that he remain that way for Flynn’s sake had been heeded, even if it did nothing to mask the scent of wolf that hung about the older king like a thick fog. Flynn had largely grown accustomed to the other curse-afflicted Gilneans on the grounds, but he didn’t think he would ever get used to Genn Greymane. At least not while he had the wherewithal to try.

“Ah, it’s you,” Greymane sniffed. He was carrying a rolled up map under one arm. That seemed strange and rather suspicious to Flynn, until he took a look around the room and realized he was in what must be one of the keep’s many planning rooms. Possibly even the war room. That was highly inconvenient.

“If I leave this here, can I trust you won’t do something crass, like urinate on it?” Greymane sneered.

Flynn’s tail whipped furiously behind him. What was _with_ this man and cats? Was it just a worgen thing, or a Greymane thing? Flynn suspected the latter, if only because it allowed him to focus his dislike on the subject himself.

_“I’ve no need to piss at the moment,”_ he said pointlessly, given that Greymane couldn’t hear him, _“but I might give it a good scratch just for your be—”_

  
Flynn blinked, and Greymane was gone. The map that had been under his arm was lying on the floor. The door was shut tight. There was a lingering stink in the air that Flynn had come to associate with surprises of the unpleasant sort, like the thin line between shock and fear.

It didn’t take him long to piece together what had happened. He must have had another episode, during which his cat-self had reacted poorly to Greymane’s presence. The Gilnean king probably hadn’t even known it was happening until he ventured too close. The only good news about it all was that he likely had the reflexes to avoid Flynn’s claws, what with being a worgen and everything that entailed. Still, he had been caught off guard and startled, the scent in the air attested to that much, and as a result it seemed he’d shut the door to keep Flynn contained inside. That wasn’t good.

If Greymane had gone to retrieve Anduin, Flynn would shortly be released and on his way back up to the room he shared with Shaw, no harm done. But if he’d gone somewhere else… If his surprise had turned to anger and he’d stalked off to do whatever it was cranky wolves did, it could be hours before he returned, and Flynn couldn’t open that door on his own. He’d wager the odds of someone else coming in were slim unless there was another of those clandestine briefings they seemed so fond of.

Not a bright prospect, if he was being honest. 

Well, nothing for it. He could scratch and yowl at the door and hope some passing servant heard him, or he could settle in and wait, and hopefully make Greymane look like he had panicked over nothing if and when he returned with the king at his heels. Yeah, that was the one. A lot more amusing when he finally got a chance to tell Shaw about it, too.

* * *

  
  
Shaw sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He couldn’t seem to concentrate; it was like the ciphers were—well, ciphers, only he couldn’t determine their meaning anymore. His mind kept wandering, his thoughts with Flynn back in the keep, curious how he was faring. It didn’t help that SI:7 headquarters was quiet, leaving him alone with his thoughts more often than he would have liked, which, at least lately, was at all.

He considered sending a runner to the keep to deliver a message to the king. Something largely innocuous, but significant enough that it wouldn’t be obvious he had only sent the agent to check up on Flynn.

But he scrapped that ridiculous scheme almost as quickly as he devised it, and it was a good thing, too; not a minute later he had a report on his desk from one of his local agents—those hand-selected few who had been tasked with keeping a close eye on the city, so that the rest could cast their gaze elsewhere. Only this report wasn’t about petty complaints among the citizens, or a shortage of arable land within the city walls creating tension. It was about Flynn.

More specifically, it was about the mage who had cursed him. According to the message, one of the mercenaries Shaw hadn’t managed to kill was in the harbor, looking to trade information for amnesty. It seemed he had hopped a ship from Boralus to escape the Proudmoore Guard, and come to Stormwind hoping to spare himself his employer’s wrath. Shaw tried not to think about the fact that his enemies considered him the _lesser_ of two evils, and instead focused on the good news: this meant a potential lead on the mage’s whereabouts.

“Renzik,” Shaw said. He didn’t bother to raise his voice, knowing his second in command would be able to hear him. It was one of the many benefits of having a goblin on his team. When Renzik appeared in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the lower half of the frame and digging under his fingernails with the tip of a dagger, Shaw held up the message. “I have some business in town.”

“Solo business?” Renzik asked.

That was an offer to come along and act as a second set of eyes and ears, and for a moment Shaw was tempted. But he had managed against more than a dozen of this turncoat’s companions already, and Stormwind Harbor was hardly the ideal place for a single mercenary—or even a handful of them, if it was actually an ambush—to spring a trap. Besides, the fewer people involved in this mess with Flynn, the better.

He nodded. “Nothing I can’t handle. I should be back within the hour.”

“A’right,” was all Renzik said. He disappeared back to wherever he had been lurking, leaving Shaw to his work. That was another nice thing about Renzik, and the one least related to his being a goblin: he didn’t waste time on words. Shaw appreciated that.

He left headquarters and quickly made his way down into the city proper, following the familiar path to the docks. The noise in his mind hadn’t quieted much, even after leaving the silence of SI:7, but at least he could focus on putting one foot in front of the other and not on the looming threat of yet another failure. If only to himself, he could admit that he had begun to lose hope of ever reversing Flynn’s condition. The episodes were becoming more frequent, more prolonged, and even Jaina’s attempts to reach out to the Kirin Tor—a step she’d been reluctant to take for personal reasons, but had ultimately done for Flynn’s sake—had yielded no results. Their search seemed to have reached a dead end at last.

But if one traitor who feared for his life could give them the key to finding the mage, there was still a chance. Shaw had no knowledge of the arcane himself, but he had spent enough time around those who did to know that only a fool would tamper with magics he didn’t understand and couldn’t undo. While it seemed their foe was cruel, devious, and utterly determined, their brief encounter hadn’t left Shaw with the impression that he was stupid. That was the last shred of hope he had left to cling to.

If only he could be sure that a cure would come in time. And what happened if it didn’t? What happened if the mage provided them with the solution, but it was too late, and Flynn was gone? Would he come back as a man and know nothing of who he had been? Shaw couldn’t decide if that prospect was better or worse than losing him as a cat, and leaving him that way forever. It might be more merciful.

The workers scurrying about paid him no mind as he boarded the passenger ship from Kul Tiras that was moored at the end of the dock. The message had been brief, and short on details, but clear in the demand that Shaw come to the sender aboard the ship. Perhaps he intended to return to Boralus that same day, with his employer none the wiser. It seemed shortsighted to him, but once Shaw had the information he sought, he wasn’t much concerned with the outcome of the informant’s poor life choices.

There were a few passengers already boarding for the voyage back to Boralus, all of them lingering on the open deck, enjoying the bright sun and warm weather. Where they were going they would need all the warmth they could get, Shaw mused. He certainly didn’t regret returning to Stormwind, even though it had significantly complicated matters with Flynn. At least they were both more secure in the city, surrounded by the familiar. Surrounded by royal guards and his own agents, anyway.

There were a few rooms in the quarters below, mostly for the crew, but a small semi-public mess of sorts had been set up near what was more or less a galley. That was where Shaw expected to find the author of the message. Somewhere in the shadows, out of the way.

With a knife tucked into his palm, its short handle between his fingers, he scanned the space for any sign of the turncoat. There didn’t seem to be anyone at all, and the shortened galley visible through an open doorway was empty as well. Had he been wrong? Was his informant one of the passengers milling about up on deck? He had just turned around to go back up the steps when he heard the terribly familiar, wholly unwelcome sound of a magical shroud fading away. He’d seen enough magic users temporarily conceal themselves to know the sound it made by heart, and to know that it took a particularly skilled mage to pull off successfully.

There was no point in turning back around, but he did anyway. What was one more mistake.

“Love really does make fools of us all, doesn’t it,” the mage said.

* * *

  
  
It was at least an hour before someone came to open the door. Flynn bounded out of the room, complaining the whole way.

_“And you had better tell that King Greymane that the very moment I’m back in my own body I’ll be having words with him about his apparent disdain for cats. When has he ever caught a rat, hm? What’s he done for the public good lately?”_

He sprinted away from the very bewildered young man with an armful of rolled maps and headed straight for the throne room. Anduin wouldn’t be able to field his complaints any better than that poor lad, but at least he might help Flynn acquire some lunch. Being locked up for the better part of an afternoon was hungry business.

His path took him up the long hallway and through the single open door to the throne room, and he slipped through to the frustrated _tsk_ of a royal guard. Well, that was their problem. He had the king’s crest on his tag and… tides help him, why was he _proud_ of that?

_“You wouldn’t_ believe _the afternoon I’ve had!”_ he announced to no one because no one could understand him. It came out in a series of chirps and trills, which he largely ignored. Simple cat sounds that he and Shaw were both used to by that point.

The smell of Greymane’s presence hit him first, and he spotted the hairy lout standing behind the huddled group of Anduin, Wyrmbane, which was a bit of a surprise, and Lady Jaina of all people. He supposed she could just pop in whenever she felt like it, so that was probably less alarming than simply unusual.

_“Am I interrupting something?”_ he asked cheerfully. He actually enjoyed the thought that he was interrupting one of their little secret roundtables. Strange that this one seemed to have excluded Shaw, though.

Anduin turned to him, and all four of Flynn’s feet stopped moving at once. The look on the young king’s face was grave, his normally bright and thoughtful gaze now full of concern. The scent that came from him—from all of them—was awash with the unpleasant, sour note of distress, but it was Jaina’s pitying frown and the guilt he could see in her eyes that told him more than any smell ever could. More, even, than Greymane’s unhappy grimace.

_“It’s Shaw, isn’t it?”_ Flynn asked, knowing no one would answer.

* * *

  
  
Shaw woke with a shudder that quickly turned into a full-body shiver. Shards of melting ice slid from his chest and legs as he shook, falling to the floor to become tiny puddles around him. He had never personally experienced the results of a mage’s frost before, and so far he was certain he never wanted to again. Though he had a feeling that was about to become irrelevant.

His wrists were clasped in iron manacles, secured to a ring set in the stone wall above his head. Both of arms had gone numb, not helped by the ice. His fingers tingled after he squeezed his hands a few times, but the little bit of feeling that returned was all he could manage from that position. He cursed under his breath and tried to stand, discovering that he could still feel pain in his arms just fine, but then the rest of his body ached and protested, and the heels of his boots slid out from under him on the wet floor. With a frustrated huff, he fell back into the half-reclined position he had woken from.

The shrill squeak of a hinge alerted him to the arrival of a visitor in the dark, and he raised his chin defiantly as torches burst to life around the room, illuminating his small cell. It was built of solid stone, round, and appeared accessible only by the single door at the top of a curving set of steps. The iron was rusted at the edges where salt water and air had crept through. Knowing he was by the sea did little to help his prospects of escape, but at least it was something.

“Good evening,” the mage said, coming down the steps carrying what looked to be a mug of something hot. Wisps of steam rose from the lip, curling around the mage as he walked. Shaw sincerely hoped that wasn’t going to be used on him.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” he rasped, surprised by the sound of his own voice. What the hell had the mage done to him?

“You may be feeling a bit out of sorts. I apologize for that. I’m not certain you recall, but you put up quite a fight. Not unlike your impressive display on the bridge, come to think of it. I was forced to get a bit rough with you.”

If only his effort had made a difference. “You had an advantage,” he pointed out bitterly. It was childish to complain, but he didn’t really care. It wasn’t like anyone would ever know what had been said between them.

“I had _magic_ ,” the mage countered. “You, on the other hand, had every reason not to board that ship, and yet you did anyway.” He knelt down, setting his steaming mug on the ground between them. “So desperate to help your lover that you blindly stumbled into a trap that even _I_ know you should’ve seen coming. This tea is for you, by the way.”

“How do you know about—” Shaw stopped himself, biting his tongue to hold back the rest of his question, but it seemed the damage was already done.

“Surely you must have at least suspected you were being watched when you slipped into his room at the inn? Of course I had my suspicions when I first met you both on the road,” the mage explained, “though at the time I was somewhat preoccupied trying to acquire your thieving friend by more legitimate means. I am continually surprised by your myopia, Spymaster. Five gold for a cat? That didn’t tip you off even a little?”

“He complained that it wasn’t enough.”

The mage threw his head back and laughed. “I like the sound of this fellow. I think I’ll enjoy keeping him as my pet, provided some of his personality persists through the final stage of the transformation. Speaking of…” He reached for the small pocket on Shaw’s hip, right next to where he kept his throwing knives. They were gone, of course. Shaw flinched away from his touch, but he was too cold, too battered and weak to do much else. “I found what I suspect to be the majority of your weapons,” the mage said, “which were disposed of, naturally. But I left this.” He plucked Flynn’s first tag from the pocket.

“Don’t.”

“‘ _Flynn_ ,’” he read aloud. “Would you like me to put this on his new collar? For sentiment’s sake.”

“This is strange way to torture someone,” Shaw said, trying to pretend as though question hadn’t felt like a sharp slap across the face. He didn’t think he succeeded. “I still don’t know what you want from me.”

“Oh,” the mage sighed, standing up again. He brushed at the hem of his garish robes with one hand. “Nothing at all. I simply came down here to chat.”

Shaw found it difficult not to roll his eyes at that. He had been wrong in his original assessment, it seemed; this mage was young, and definitely pleased with himself, but he was far more arrogant than he’d first appeared in Stormsong.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asked.

“Please, I’ve never killed anyone in my life.”

For some reason that lit a spark of fury in Shaw, and it caught like wildfire. He found some reservoir of strength and kicked out, hurtling the little mug of tea at the mage’s legs. With a yelp the mage danced back out of the way, brushing at the spots where he’d been splashed. 

“What else do you call what you’ve done?!” Shaw demanded.

The mage narrowed his eyes. “He’s still alive.”

“It’s not going to be him much longer, and that’s as good as dead!”

With a _tsk_ , the mage nudged the broken mug aside with the toe of his boot. “He brought it on himself, you know. He tried to steal from me.”

“He was trying to retrieve something _you_ stole first.” Never in his life would he have bothered to argue like this, splitting hairs over something so trivial. Not before Flynn. The man just brought out something irrational in him, and he couldn’t seem to stop, couldn’t shut his own damn mouth.

“Is that so? Seems I have some other acquaintances to visit once I’m through with you two.”

Shaw’s eyes widened before he could stop himself. _You two?_ Did he have Flynn already? No, that was impossible, Stormwind Keep was protected day and night, filled with guards and now his own SI:7 agents. And then there was Greymane and his people, who would surely sniff out any threat. That had to be more than enough…

But the mage had _him_ , and though that had been his own fault for going in unprepared, it meant there was a better than decent chance Flynn had been captured as well.

The thought of Flynn in a cage, or chained up somewhere cold and dark, made him even angrier. “If you hurt him—”

“I’ve no intention of causing him any harm,” the mage said, dismissing Shaw’s unfinished threat with a wave. “He will be well cared for, just as all my creatures have been.”

A wave of nausea roiled in Shaw’s gut, and he grimaced at the thought of how many lives this deranged bastard had ruined over petty revenge, or simply for his own amusement. He remembered Flynn’s plea that they help the gull and the weasel from before. Shaw wouldn’t dismiss the possibility that even the mule had been human once as well.

The mage crouched down again, a few feet back this time so that Shaw couldn’t kick him as he had the mug. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling far too warmly for someone so cold. “I take care of them all. And I’ll take care of you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the grand tradition of Shaw getting captured by people because that's like 50% of his skill set.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, there were some irl difficulties for a while, but I'm back on track.

_“Take me with you,”_ Flynn said. _“Whatever you do, I’ve got to go with you.”_

Jaina walked past without looking down, finger tapping her chin as she thought of a solution to their most recent crisis.

“I can trace the portal to its destination for a short time yet,” she said. “The mage who took Shaw is clever, but not _that_ clever.”

Her confidence was hardly inspiring when paired with her nervous pacing. Flynn watched her make another circuit of the map room, still tapping her lip in thought. _“Take me with you when you do,”_ he said again, hoping maybe this time she might look at him, see the worry in his eyes and read it properly.

He couldn’t just… do nothing. He couldn’t stand back, hanging about the throne room in Stormwind while Shaw was being hurt, or worse. Whatever else, regardless of how little he had seen the man in recent days, and despite what Shaw undoubtedly thought of as “proper” emotional distance or some other such nonsense, Flynn at least knew his own feelings. He loved that repressed moron with his dry-as-sand sense of humor and embarrassingly short emotional range. Loved him so much it hurt. One damn night, that was all it had taken. Well, one night and several months’ worth of days, anyway. Not to mention all the time before that—the missions, the debriefings, the many times Shaw tried to “subtly” hint that Flynn should leave him alone… Those long hours when they had really come to know one another. The good and bad.

 _“Damn it, Mathias,”_ he muttered, cursing the man for being so difficult. Flynn could have fallen for anyone, anyone else at all, and odds were better than good they wouldn’t be _nearly_ so prone to danger and spontaneous disappearances.

Hands suddenly scooped him up off the floor, depositing him on the edge of the table. Flynn turned around to find that it was King Anduin who had been the one to pick him up. “Captain,” he said, speaking to Flynn as he always had. As if he were still a human. Bless the lad. “I’m sure you have some thoughts on this matter, and though you cannot communicate them to us on your own, that is no reason not to include you. After all, you know Shaw better than any of us.”

“Anduin, is this really necessary?” Greymane sighed. “He’s a cat.”

“Genn.”

Flynn considered hissing at the Gilnean, but tides knew it’d probably just get the old cur growling again. He settled for a snap of his tail and pinned ears, instead, assuming that Greymane, as a beast himself, would understand his meaning. And he seemed to if his snarl was any indication.

“I’m certain Captain Fairwind is brimming with suggestions,” Jaina cut in, “but in the interest of saving time, attempting to determine what they are might have to wait. That mage must know we’ll come looking for him sooner or later.”

Flynn was tempted to argue, for all the good it would do, but even he knew she was right. Still, it was kind of Anduin to give a damn. Maybe Anduin would look out for Flynn once he finally lost his mind for good. Someone would have to. If they never found Shaw… 

That thought alone made him feel worse than anything else that day. And that was saying a lot.

 _“You’ve got to get him back,”_ he said, staring up into Anduin’s eyes, hoping he would somehow understand.

“We will find him,” Anduin promised quietly, and Flynn wished he was physically able or important enough to hug the lad.

“I can piggyback a portal along the same path utilized by the other mage,” Jaina explained, “but only once, and only for a short time. There is some risk involved, however; someone will need to go through with a beacon, something that will allow me to pinpoint their location and create a new portal that is more stable.”

“I can do it,” Anduin said.

Greymane scoffed, as though it was nothing more than a particularly funny joke on the king’s part. “Absolutely not.”

“Jaina will have to remain here to create the portal—”

“And you must remain here to rule your kingdom. You are not dashing off through some portal to Light knows where. I forbid it.”

Anduin merely arched a slender brow at Greymane, who at least had the decency to look chagrined. Even Flynn felt sorry for the old fool. Somewhat.

“I will go,” Greymane offered, striking a far more conciliatory tone. That seemed to satisfy Anduin, though Flynn would wager he’d have a few choice words for the elder king when no one else was around to hear.

“Actually,” Jaina said, interrupting them both, “I don’t think it’s wise to send either one of you. There’s no telling where you would come out on the other side, or what you might find. Not to mention it’s entirely likely that our enemy has planned ahead for just such an incursion, especially given his recent activities. He knows he’s been in the admiralty’s sights for months now, and he would likely expect to be followed in just this manner.”

“What do you propose instead?” Anduin asked.

Jaina didn’t answer right away, and Flynn looked up from reflexively licking his paw to see that both kings were looking directly at him. When he turned he found Jaina’s assessing ice-blue gaze was on him as well, glittering above a smirk.

 _“Oh, well, that can’t be good,”_ Flynn said.

“He might expect someone will follow him, or even several people, but I doubt he would expect a creature small and swift enough to move about unnoticed. One clever enough to find an ideal location to place the beacon.” She held out a hand, palm facing up, as though expecting him to shake it. “What do you say, Captain?”

Well, no sense wasting time over it. Flynn popped up onto his feet, trilling and chirping to indicate that he was all for the idea.

“I would say that is a resounding yes,” Anduin remarked with a smile.

Greymane sniffed. “I had thought you wanted the spymaster _back_.”

“Genn, he isn’t really a cat. Let it go.”

  
Less than half an hour later, Jaina stood with Anduin and Flynn in the middle of the throne room. Flynn was sitting at the top of the dais just before the throne, with Anduin beside him. When you were a cat, you could get away with that sort of thing, he’d found.

“The beacon can be anything,” Jaina told them. “The tag on your collar, for instance.”

Flynn tried to look down, but of course the tag was right below his chin, and even if he had been able to see it, the little brass stamp of the Stormwind lion was mostly buried in the snow-white fur of his chest.

“Yes,” Jaina chuckled, “exactly. I can enchant it to serve as the beacon, and then you only have to find a suitable location for a second portal. Somewhere out of the way, with access to the rest of whatever structure they’re in, assuming they’re in one at all.”

“What if this mage has taken Master Shaw elsewhere?” Anduin asked.

“I considered that, but I don’t think he would have. It’s possible he could have made Shaw lighter, but he would still be cumbersome, especially if he was unconscious. I assume he would have to be, based on the condition of the ship’s hold where he was taken. But more than that, this mage is overconfident. From everything I’ve learned about him since Shaw first informed me of Captain Fairwind’s condition, I believe he’s too caught up in his own brilliance to expect that we would do anything besides charge in blindly after him.”

In Flynn’s experience, that was typically what folks like the Alliance were known for. He couldn’t fault her logic.

“It’s very important that you remain hidden,” Anduin said, speaking now to Flynn. “You are far more vulnerable than the rest of us might be in your place.”

Flynn didn’t need anyone to tell him that, but the concern was touching nonetheless. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t nervous; there was nothing quite like bounding off through a magical portal to potentially anywhere with nothing but your wits and a few enhanced feline senses, carrying the weight of the world on your tiny shoulders. Or the weight of one life, anyway. To Flynn they might as well be the same thing.

He couldn’t help but wonder where Greymane had gone, given that the man seemed determined to be a part of their efforts whether he was needed or not. But the absence of a big, lumbering wolf—whether or not he was an actual wolf at that particular moment—was not something Flynn felt needed questioning. It was more like a small favor, really.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just take this off,” Jaina said, reaching for Flynn’s collar. “Give me a moment to prepare, and we can proceed.”

She walked away, absorbed in some sort of intense study of the collar. Flynn turned his own attention back to the king. _“Bet you never thought you’d be rubbing elbows with a former-pirate-turned-cat, eh?”_ he asked the young ruler, who was currently petting the top of his head.

If Shaw was around, he would have made some remark about Flynn filling up silence, or given him that look he probably didn’t even know he was giving. The one that told Flynn he could see right through the wry wit to the real worry underneath. For all the man seemed allergic to noise, he was more than capable of making a fuss when he wanted, and talking at times he’d be better served keeping quiet. But Flynn had never been inclined to silence him on the rare occasions he chose to talk. Even when it was to complain.

He had asked Shaw what was going to happen to him, but now he found himself far more worried about what would happen to Shaw. He had spent so much of his life looking out for himself, after his mother died, and it was strange to face the sudden awareness that he cared much more for another life than he did his own. And if they couldn’t save Shaw… If they couldn’t get him back… Well. To him it seemed a kindness, rather than a curse, that he wouldn’t know the difference soon enough.

“It’s done,” Jaina said. She returned and buckled the collar back around his neck, giving it a light tug so that the tag hung down in front.

“My people will be waiting to portal in on Jaina’s word,” Anduin said to him. He stood and moved to the throne, where he sat straight against the high back.

Flynn spared half a thought for what he might have meant by _his people—_ was that soldiers? Spies like Shaw? And just who commanded SI:7 with Shaw missing, anyway? He supposed there were good answers to all of those questions, and some quite likely included things he wasn’t privileged enough to know. But he would find out sooner or later, whenever they came charging through the portal. Assuming they did. Assuming the plan worked. There were a lot of _ifs_ at play in this rescue, Flynn mused, but he wasn’t really in the position to point that out to anyone.

For a daring rescue, the fanfare of opening a portal to tides knew where was fairly minimal. Flynn watched as Jaina went through all the motions, and he felt the fur on his back stand on end as a rippling, silvery-blue oval sliced through the air and into existence before them. He had seen plenty of portals, most of them since teaming up with the Alliance, but none had ever given him the chills like that. He wondered if it was Jaina’s magic, or just magic in general.

“Good luck,” Anduin said as Flynn stepped through. It was the last Flynn heard from either of them, and the last he would likely hear until this business was done.

He appeared on the other side in a large, stone room with an arched ceiling. Tattered banners hung from the rafters, old and musty and swaying slightly in an endless draft that came from somewhere Flynn couldn’t immediately pinpoint. He could smell the sea, with its crisp salt scent; they were somewhere by the water, but if he had ended up in Kul Tiras that really wasn’t saying much. The whole place had the look and feel of some monastery abandoned by the tidesages, but in his experience that wasn’t very likely to be the case. Their lot liked to keep with tradition, and giving up footholds wasn’t part of that. Some manor, then? But what sort of manor smelled like a barn?

His first priority was meant to be the location of a safe place for the others to portal in, and he intended to do just that. He really did. But he could find Shaw, too. All they really needed of him was to drop the beacon—which, thanks to Jaina’s handiwork, was his tag. Well, that was simple enough.

He dashed off into the shadows of the nearest corridor, through an archway that looked like it had once been meant to fit a door. The whole place had the stink of disuse and disrepair about it, with the underlying smell of animal that no amount of age or salt air could hide. Through another arch he found himself in what appeared to have been a courtyard at some point. It was wide and empty, filled with the detritus of a once-tended garden. A single dead tree loomed overhead, giving the whole place just the most unpleasant atmosphere, really. But it was open, and both out of sight and far away from the room the mage had traveled to, and Flynn after him. It would have to do.

Flynn hopped over the short stone wall and into the dead garden. Once there, he hooked his hind leg under the collar and pushed with all his might. It wasn’t much, being that he was roughly the size of a particularly short gnome. Fortunately for everyone, Shaw seemed to have taken that into account when he had the collar re-crafted with a second loop; the metal ring, soft and malleable, gave after just a few seconds of effort. The collar popped off his neck and onto the mossy ground, landing in the dead grass. That was easier than he’d expected it to be.

The others would arrive soon, which meant Flynn had a few minutes at best to search for Shaw before matters became significantly more complicated. Not that he would be able to do much once he found him, in all likelihood, but he could lead the others to where the mage was keeping him. He could curl up on him and keep him warm, since the place was bloody freezing. How long had Shaw been missing? At least half a day by Flynn’s estimate, maybe longer. Trapped in a chilly ruin with a madman. And all that time Flynn had been sitting around, doing nothing.

Well, no more of that. He was going to find Shaw, and then he would lead the others to wherever he was, and they would all leave. After reducing that damned mage to a pile of ash, preferably. He didn’t really have a complete handle on exactly what it was the king and his cohorts were planning, truth be told. He only hoped it would be particularly cruel and with any luck prolonged.

With no time to waste, Flynn set off back the way he had come. There was little hope of following a single scent, not with the place reeking of too many creatures to count and filled out with mold and dust in every available crevice. Not to mention the fact that the mage seemed to have inhabited the space for some time, just going by the sheer saturation of the smells, and his scent would likely be everywhere Flynn went sniffing. He would have to go about finding Shaw the old fashioned way.

Jaina had been right about a number of things that day, but one in particular: Flynn was _fast_. He moved swiftly and silently through the halls, poking his head through open doors and quickly taking in the contents of each room. It was probably too much to ask that he might find Shaw simply sitting in one, tied up and no worse for wear, but a man could hope.

He had been there some ten minutes already by his estimate, and he was expecting to hear the clatter of approaching soldiers at any moment. But the halls were still silent save for the occasional whistle of the wind outside as it forced its way through the cracks in the stone façade. There was no indication that the beacon had worked, or that they were coming at all, and Flynn was starting to get nervous. To make matters worse, he couldn’t find any trace of Shaw, and he had seen no signs of the mage’s presence at all since arriving. Had Jaina been wrong? Was this merely a stop on the way to stow Shaw somewhere else? Somewhere more secure? If that was the case, he only hoped that Jaina could work her magic again and locate their destination a second time. Otherwise… Well, it certainly didn’t help his mood to think about such things.

One more turn down a long, dark corridor took him to a wide parlor, with two decrepit double doors standing open at the far end. It looked like the entrance to a ballroom of some sort, or perhaps a banquet hall. The reeking scent of beasts and fear wafted out of the open doors, hitting Flynn’s senses like a punch to the side of the head. He felt his fur stand on end, and every instinct he possessed—human and feline alike—told him to stay away, to run. But he wasn’t going to do that. He _couldn’t_ do that.

Huffing out a tiny sigh, Flynn steeled himself for what he imagined would almost assuredly be a haunting sight. Nothing about the smells emanating from that room spoke of good, of finding some sign that might give him hope Shaw was nearby. He started walking, creeping slowly toward the door, and fighting to ignore the fear crawling up his spine like spiders. A part of him expected to find some grotesque altar inside; a sacrificial slab where all the animals were offered up to whatever dark entity the bastard mage served in exchange for his powers. It was Kul Tiras, after all. That sort of thing tended to happen.

But there was no altar. No sign of dark magic anywhere, in fact. Nothing at all out of the ordinary, and Flynn’s fur settled back down, his tail swaying curiously behind him. Despite the reek of terror that filled the air, he found himself transfixed by the sight that met him as he passed the doors.

The room was absolutely _filled_ with cages. Big and small, round, long, wide and squat, and most were occupied. Right away Flynn spotted what he thought must be the gull and weasel from that day on the road to Stormsong. The gull squawked noisily as he approached, flapping its wings and beating them against the bars of its cage.

 _“Had a feeling you were in the same sort of bind,”_ Flynn said, hoping he might be understood. It didn’t seem as though they could communicate with one another, given that he hadn’t heard so much as a word before, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. _“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here just as soon as I locate my friend,”_ he promised.

If the gull understood him, it didn’t give any indication. Just cackled at him a bit and began preening its feathers. He wondered how long it had been since their transformation, whether they had any time left at all. His own humanity was slipping away daily, and he could feel that he didn’t have much time left. Of the dozens of animals in the room, it was foolish to think that most hadn’t been transformed before he was. The thought was chilling.

Snakes, rabbits, raccoons, lizards, a krolusk, a tank full of fish and one octopus… the mage had collected a veritable zoo of his enemies. They were all hissing and hollering however they could, but there was no way of telling which recognized that he was another curse-afflicted human, and which only feared he might attack or eat them.

Wherever Shaw was, Flynn hoped he’d heard the racket coming from the menagerie, and knew that meant help was coming. Help with four legs and no thumbs, but given the circumstances they really couldn’t afford to be picky. The only problem was, if Shaw heard it, that meant the mage probably had as well.

Flynn dashed across the room on silent paws, headed in the direction of another large wooden door. It looked heavy, but whoever had been through last left it cracked just enough for a small animal to slip through. That was all he needed.

He passed cage after cage on his way to the door, barely paying any mind to the unfortunate creatures within. He didn’t think he could bring himself to look at most of them. But whether by coincidence or some terrible design, he did risk a passing glance at one near to the door, and the sight stole his breath. It was a piebald hawk, the color of pale linen with a splash of red-orange feathers atop its head, and a long, rust red tail. It had the faintest trace of checkering along its belly and legs, scattered about haphazardly like spots. Or freckles.

And bright, _bright_ green eyes.

Flynn approached slowly, carefully, but not for the hawk’s sake. He was afraid to come close, to find his worst fears confirmed. The bird cocked its head at an angle and blinked at him. He wondered if it could hear the nervous thrum of his heartbeat.

 _“Shaw…?”_ Flynn asked, wishing he couldn’t sense the way the bird’s body responded instinctively to the presence of a predator. To _him_. He knew there was no helping it, but that did little to ease his guilt. _“Shaw, can you understand me? Give me some sort of sign if you can. If… it’s you.”_

He hoped for a wing flap, or maybe even a screech, but the hawk only made the same high, whistling squeak over and over, like fingers on glass. Flynn really had no idea what that sound might mean coming from a hawk, but it wasn’t panic, at least.

Some desperate part of him wanted to believe that he was wrong, and this bird wasn’t Shaw at all. But there was something in those bottle-green eyes, a gleam that reminded him far too much of a man whose gaze captured everything around him in astonishing detail. Fitting, Flynn thought, that he’d been turned into a hawk. Probably would have loved to have such keen eyes as a human.

He rubbed against the cage, trying to let Shaw know that he recognized him. With his heart in his throat, he waited for some sign that the recognition was mutual. The hawk cocked its head to the side again, blinked its strange eyelids, and craned its long neck to nibble gentle at the tufted tip of Flynn’s ear.

 _“Yeah, thought that might be you,”_ Flynn said sadly.

Shaw made a cackling sound like a seagull and lifted his head to tap his beak against the top of the cage. Flynn saw the hinge at the back and huffed a laugh. Trust the man to be a bird and still have an escape plan up his… wing.

Still, a plan was only a plan. They weren’t either of them in what anyone would call top form. _“Never thought I’d find anything less useful than paws,”_ he muttered to himself. _“Alright, so there’s some way to get you out, and it’s up there, is that it?”_ Flynn leapt up to the top of the cage and sniffed around, following the faint scent of human until he found a small, almost invisible seam that ran front to back, dividing the top of the cage in two. When he peered over the edge he found a small latch. No lock. It seemed the mage didn’t believe his animal prisoners were skilled enough to free themselves. A fair assumption given that most of them didn’t have fingers. The small monkey in the corner notwithstanding.

With some effort, and a lot of biting, he was able to slide the pin out of the latch. It fell to the ground and Shaw flapped his wings several times, which Flynn optimistically took to be celebratory, rather than critical. One never really knew with Mathias Shaw.

But there was no way for either of them to lift the lid. Flynn tried several times, but he couldn’t keep it open long enough for Shaw to escape. He needed room to lift off, and the cage was barely big enough for him to stand straight.

 _“Okay,”_ Flynn said, hopping down behind the cage, _“I’ve got an idea. Bear with me, and don’t complain later when you get your voice back.”_ He jumped up and put his paws on the edge of the cage, pushing as hard as his little body could manage. Shaw seemed to get the idea, and he moved to the front to help tip the cage over. It hit the stone floor with a crash, and the lid swung open. Shaw came hopping out after righting himself, feathers ruffled.

The first thing he did was spread his wings and flap them several times; the bird version of shaking out sore wrists after being shackled, Flynn assumed.

He rubbed the length of his side against Shaw, and received a gentle nibble on his neck in return. _“Alright,”_ he said, _“that’s one down.”_ He looked around the room, trying to count the number of cages surrounding them. _“Only about… forty or fifty to go.”_

Shaw screeched, and Flynn was buffeted several times with a wing.

 _“What’s wrong?”_ he asked. Shaw hopped around to face the double doors Flynn had used to get in, and he flapped again.

_“You want to leave? But what about all of them?”_

Strange, watching a hawk shake its head. Did that mean Shaw could still understand him?

 _“They’re running out of time,”_ Flynn explained. _“If they aren’t too far gone already, they will be soon. We can’t just leave them like this!”_

But Shaw seemed determined; he hopped twice and then lifted himself up into the air and alighted on a window ledge. He screeched for Flynn, who remained in the middle of the floor.

 _“Can’t do it, mate. I can’t leave them here.”_ He knew Shaw’s plan was likely to come back and rescue the others when they had help—Jaina, Flynn thought, would be their best option. Maybe even the king and his soldiers, given the state of the place. But he couldn’t risk that some of the other cursed animals wouldn’t make it that long.

Shaw screeched again, and Flynn wished he had some way to truly communicate with him. A one-sided conversation was just that, and wouldn’t get them anywhere. Not before they ran out of time. And where were the others?

He watched Shaw crouch down as though preparing to glide from the window. It seemed he had more to say on the matter, even if he couldn’t say anything at all. It was the most Shaw-like behavior Flynn had seen of him yet, and if he had any doubts before about the hawk’s true identity, that alone would have set them to rest.

Then Shaw abruptly righted himself and began shrieking, spreading his wings wide as the room turned blisteringly cold around them, and Flynn’s paws were frozen to the floor.

“You sneaky little devil,” the mage tutted. He came slinking into the room from the partially-open door, hands out and magic crackling in the air around him. Flynn could only turn himself halfway to look at him, but that was all he needed. Same ridiculous robes. Same unsettling grin.

“To think I wasted all that time and gold trying to hunt you down, and all I had to do was bring your lover here. Brave to mount a rescue all alone. Brave or foolhardy to do it as a cat.” He smirked, spreading his hands wide in a move Flynn had seen too many times not to know what was coming next. “I can see why he’s so fond of you.”


	9. Chapter 9

Shaw watched Flynn tug helplessly at the ice that encased his feet, struggling to free himself as the mage approached.

“You have both been so entertaining,” the mage chuckled, casually dismissing the ice with a wave. Easy magic, but more than either of them could do. “But I hope now you understand the futility of your efforts.”

Once free, Flynn backed up to the wall below the window, crouching low and placing himself between Shaw and the mage. It was as endearing as it was useless. There was no way either of them could defend against his magic, not as they were, and certainly not without any way to communicate with one another. Their only option was to run. Unfortunately, there was no way for him to tell Fairwind that, and he knew the man well enough to know that he would never run from a fight without sufficient incentive.

He leapt from the window ledge, gliding down to the ground by the open door. With a cry that echoed in the cavernous hall, he tried to draw Flynn’s attention to himself. The mage turned and laughed at the sight of Shaw with his wings held up, hopping around in some strange effort to make Flynn understand him. _“Flynn, over here!”_ he shouted. _“Come this way!”_

“You know,” the mage said, still chuckling to himself, “there is a funny thing about this spell. Along with the transfiguration it also renders the victim mute—apart from those sounds such a beast might make on their own, of course. But there is an exception, when the spell forms a one-way bond with the first person the victim speaks to. Clearly your friend here managed to keep quiet until he reached you, but for most of the others, I am the first—and last—to hear them speak.” He turned a cruel smile on Shaw. “Which means, Spymaster, that until the day you lose yourself to this curse, you will never again speak to another living being.”

Shaw heard Flynn bite out a curse, and he realized then that the mage had purposely stoked his anger. He could understand what Shaw was saying where Flynn couldn’t, and he knew it was Shaw’s intention to run. But as long as he held Flynn’s attention, they weren’t going anywhere.

 _“You have to ignore him!”_ he tried to plead, but it was pointless.

 _“I’ll have your head before I let you get away with this!”_ Flynn roared, hissing at the mage and swiping at his legs as he slowly approached where Flynn was arched and spitting. He was furious.

“I admit, it is rather amusing like this. I can’t understand a word you’re saying, but I know it can’t be terribly friendly. That attitude of yours will have to be corrected once you’re my pet.”

While Flynn might think he could kill a man with nothing but claws and tiny fangs, Shaw knew better. He would never defeat that mage, and he was only free because the mage had no interest in trapping him a second time. They were powerless, helpless creatures, and he was simply toying with their lives.

Shaw watched the whole twisted play unfold with a growing sense of despair. Only his thin hope that they might not be alone for long kept him searching for a way out. He wasn’t certain how Flynn had managed to find him, how he had made it from Stormwind to Kul Tiras so quickly, but he was willing to wager there was magic involved. That likely meant Jaina, and Jaina meant the king, who would expend every effort in order to retrieve his spymaster. But it would take time to bring the forces they would need to confront the mage and stop him from doing any further harm. That meant he and Flynn needed to hold out long enough for the others to arrive and find them.

The mage had to be distracted. Kept off balance. Flynn was doing a decent job of it all on his own without even meaning to, but that wouldn’t last forever. Especially knowing Flynn.

Shaw’s talons clicked against the stone as he hopped around, flapping his wings in a futile attempt to make himself seen by one or both of them. It gave him an idea. Unfortunately, it was exactly the sort of thing he expected Flynn might come up with when he had run out of slightly less self-destructive ideas, but it could work. Or it could get him killed. There really was only one way to find out.

 _I’m spending far too much time with that man,_ he thought with a sigh.

Gaining flight was more difficult than he had expected, but there was something familiar about it; an instinct, buried within the part of him that was no longer human. Was that how Flynn had felt, all those times he’d begun grooming himself without thinking, or hurled himself around the cabin at some unspeakable hour? That certainly explained a few things. And it did nothing to ease Shaw’s guilt over the way he had treated Flynn in the beginning.

He did a circuit of the room, glad for the high ceiling. When the angle was right, he folded his wings and dove for the mage, talons spread wide. The attack caught the mage in the side of the face. Despite Shaw’s lack of mastery over his own body, he managed a fair amount of damage before losing control of his wings and tumbling back to the ground in a flapping heap. A torrent of vile curses flowed from the mage as he screamed and scrabbled at his own face, kicking out blindly in front of him. Shaw was able to dodge his feet and get himself upright again, hopping over to where Flynn was crouched and placing himself between the two, just as Flynn had done.

“You insolent little shit!” the mage roared, sending another blind kick in Shaw’s direction and missing entirely. “I’ll feed you to the others for that!”

 _“You just remembered you have those, didn’t you,”_ Flynn said. There was an unsteadiness to his voice that tugged at Shaw’s heartstrings, matched by the palpable fear in every word Shaw could hear. It was a shame they could only speak in one direction. He wanted to reassure Flynn, to remind him the others were coming. He had to believe that.

Flynn half-curled his body around Shaw’s, bracketing him in with his tail as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to remain behind or jump in front again. _“What’s your next move?”_ he asked.

 _“Not dying,”_ Shaw said.

 _“Whatever it is you just said, you should know that you sound absolutely_ adorable _as a bird, love.”_

 _“Is this really the time, Fairwind?”_ Shaw admonished, hearing his own reedy, meaningless squeaks, which did nothing but embarrass him further.

Flynn lifted his chin toward the mage. _“Save the lectures for later, Spymaster, we’ve a job to do.”_

He followed Flynn’s line of sight to find the mage was standing upright again, glaring balefully at the two of them. His fingers flexed, and Shaw could feel the crackle of magic in the air, gathering like a nascent storm. Much more than he could recall sensing at any other time, with nearly any other mage. That alarmed him. Just how powerful _was_ this man?

A slow smile crawled onto the mage’s mangled face, lit with satisfaction beneath the smeared blood that ran down his neck and soaked his collar. He chuckled silently, thin shoulders shaking with it, and his hands fell back to his sides. That worried Shaw more than the impending attack had. It was impossible to think he was just giving up.

“Bad time to come down to the ground,” the mage said quietly.

Shaw had a split-second to wonder what the hell that meant before a weight slammed into him from behind, pinning him down with one wing still folded against his side, forcing him onto his belly. He felt sharp claws dig into his flesh between the feathers, and fangs closed around his neck.

 _“Flynn!”_ he tried to shout. It came out as nothing more than a shrill screech. _“Stop!”_

But even as he shouted, he knew _his_ Flynn wasn’t there anymore, and that the feral beast in his place was following instincts he couldn’t ignore. Shaw felt the panic in his breast, the drive to thrash and struggle and save himself. Flynn was large, even for a cat, but he wasn’t so large that Shaw couldn’t fight him off—so long as he was willing to do equal or greater harm in the process.

“So much fear in one little creature. Those talons of yours would be useful right now,” the mage taunted, watching their struggle with wicked glee. He wiped more blood from his face and onto the sleeve of his robe. “But then you would have to kill him, wouldn’t you. Such a shame. Go on then, Spymaster, kill your lover to save your own life. He’s a lost cause anyway.”

 _“Flynn, don’t do this,”_ Shaw pleaded hopelessly. He felt Flynn’s teeth break the skin of his neck, digging in deep. There was no emotion in it, nothing at all from Flynn but the deadly efficiency of a predator. Claws raked deep furrows into his flesh. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe, and with every gasp he breathed blood.

And then that gathering storm broke over the room like a downpour. Shaw flapped weakly beneath Flynn’s weight, aware of pain but so overwhelmed by it that he could only gasp helplessly. He heard the distant sounds of shouting, smelled ash and heard the shrieks of the caged animals around them, the clatter of metal and the hammer of pounding feet, but it was all just beyond his grasp. With every second it grew more distant, more indistinct. Flynn’s breath was hot against his skin, where the pain was sharpest. Shaw tried one more time to shake Flynn from his trance, to bring him back to himself, but it was useless; there was nothing of Flynn left to hear him.

* * *

  
  
Flynn came back to himself at the same moment the flat of a large, furry foot collided with his side, shoving him to the stone floor. He tasted blood, and quickly realized that it wasn’t his own.

The room around them was in absolute chaos. Lady Jaina stood facing the mage, the two of them bringing all their power to bear against one another in a contest of will and magic far beyond anything Flynn had expected. Flynn knew Jaina was strong, but the bastard mage was clever, and had evidently stolen enough magic to make himself a formidable opponent.

Everywhere he looked, Stormwind soldiers and Gilneans battled various magical constructs, beings of arcane substance that had sprung to life at the mage’s command. They were holding their own, at least, that was something to cheer for. Flynn whipped back around to face whoever had kicked him, and found Greymane kneeling over—

Kneeling over Shaw.

Shaw lay in a heap, torn feathers strewn about, his small body bloodied and limp. By some miracle he was still breathing, his curved beak opening and closing rapidly in some strange mimicry of a more human gasp. His bright green eyes found their way to Flynn, and he squeaked faintly. Flynn didn’t need to wonder whose blood it was in his mouth, then, nor ask what had happened to put it there.

 _“Tides help me,”_ he said, _“what have I done?”_

Greymane scooped Shaw up in his massive paws and handed him off to one of his Greyguard. “Take this one to a healer,” he commanded, gently settling Shaw in the other worgen’s arms. Shaw’s head fell limply against the woman’s dark fur, lolling about as though he was already dead. His eyes were nothing more than dark slits against the pale feathers. Panic flooded through Flynn at the horrible possibility that he might have just watched Shaw die. That the mangled, bloody mess the worgen guard had borne away was the last he would ever see of Shaw, and it was all his fault.

There was a thunderous _crack_ behind them, followed by a scream as the mage was hurled across the room and into a stack of cages. Animals hollered and screeched, while feathers and fur flew in all directions, filling the room with a jumble of new and terrible smells. The mage pushed himself up from the pile of debris and threw his hands in front of him just as Jaina, her eyes gone nearly white, froze him in place with a snarl and a flick of her hand. Only she hadn’t stopped at his feet, as the mage had done with Flynn; his entire body was encased in ice, trapped there as Jaina turned and dismissed the arcane constructs with another gesture.

When it was done, and the fighting and animal noises had all ceased, she half-freed the mage from his icy tomb. “I imagine you’re a little more willing to cooperate now,” she said. “Tell me how to break the curse, and you may yet earn yourself some leniency—however undeserved.”

Instead of taking her offer and sparing himself the trouble by simply cooperating, the mage laughed. “I’ll hang either way, _Lord Admiral_. What reason do I have to tell you anything?”

“You face a far worse punishment than hanging unless you tell me how to change them back.”

Someone had come for Flynn. He was picked up much less gently than he was accustomed to, and he turned to find himself in Greymane’s paws. The instinctual spike of fear that lanced through him was difficult to ignore, but he struggled against it, forcing himself to meet Greymane’s eyes as he held Flynn at arm’s length. “Whoever that was, you had best pray they survive,” Greymane told him. “Curse or no curse, that blood is on your hands, Captain.”

Flynn looked away. He didn’t think he could bear to see the disgust in Greymane’s eyes. _“I know,”_ he said to no one. And, _“I’m so sorry,”_ he said to Shaw.

  
The mage never talked. In the end he was bound magically and placed under the watchful eye of a small host of Stormwind’s mages, who arrived shortly after the battle ended, along with the king. If Jaina’s remarks to Anduin were to be believed, the man would never do magic again. Flynn wasn’t certain he wanted to know just how they intended to go about ensuring that.

He sat in the corner of the large hall, out of the way of King Anduin’s soldiers and Greymane’s guards as they hurried about. Most had been dispatched to find Shaw, who they still believed was being held captive somewhere. Those who remained behind were conducting an inventory of the various cursed animals, and searching the rest of the dilapidated manor for any others that might have been hidden away. Meanwhile, Jaina had begun her own search of the grounds, hoping to find some clue as to the nature of the magic that had been used to transform Flynn and the others.

Flynn watched it all with numb disinterest. He saw no reason to go anywhere else. There was no one expecting him. After some time, Greymane called Anduin out of the hall, leaving Flynn to sit and watch the soldiers work to collect every animal they could find. A few had escaped during the battle, when the mage was thrown into their cages. Judging by the way most of them struggled to evade recapture, they seemed to have already lost the last remnants of their humanity. Flynn tried not to watch those. Tried not to count how many there were.

When Anduin returned, Flynn knew they had finally determined the identity of the dead hawk.

“Captain,” came the king’s gentle voice above him. Flynn looked up as Anduin crouched down in front of him. It had been less than thirty minutes since they had last seen one another, but somehow Anduin seemed different. He seemed tired. “I thought you might want to know about Master Shaw.”

 _“I know you’ve no idea what I’m saying,”_ Flynn said, _“but you can leave it. I know what I’ve done. Don’t need the details.”_

He had thought it a kindness before. It had been comforting to think that he wouldn’t remember Shaw once the curse became permanent. Wouldn’t know what he’d lost. But that had been when Shaw was only missing. Now that he was truly gone, that kindness had become something more like a blessing, and it was one Flynn didn’t feel he deserved. Not that he had much of a say in the matter. Unless Jaina appeared with news before his time was up, he would become nothing more than the king’s pampered pet, with no memory of who or what he had once been. No memory of Shaw. Just a cat, skulking about the halls of Stormwind Keep. Or perhaps not—he’d killed the kingdom’s spymaster after all. Doubtful they rewarded that sort of thing.

But Anduin couldn’t understand anything he’d said, and so he soldiered on, mouth set in a grim but determined line as he steeled himself to deliver his terrible news. “I’m afraid that…” He shifted from a crouch and knelt before Flynn, settling down on both knees. Flynn might have been surprised if it had been anyone else, but he’d spent enough time in Anduin’s company to know the lad was not above that sort of thing. “I did what I could for him, but his injuries were extensive,” he explained.

Flynn tried to turn away, to somehow distract himself from the pity he could hear in Anduin’s voice. It would grow cold, he knew, as the reality of what had happened became more real to all of them.

Anduin went on. “I’m sorry. There is no way to tell what sort of permanent damage there may be. Not as he is now.”

Flynn shot up onto all four feet, crowding into Anduin’s space. _“He’s alive?!”_ The rumble of a purr that started in his chest was loud even to him, and he could feel the excited shudder in his tail. It took a moment, but Anduin seemed to realize what his sudden change in demeanor meant.

“Did you think that he… Oh, no, Captain Fairwind, no,” Anduin said, the pity in his voice all turning to guilt. “He’s only resting. Once we realized he wasn’t anywhere in the ruin, Genn suggested that he might be among the animals that were recovered. Jaina was able to determine that he had been cursed, just as you were, and that he was in fact the hawk. He is alive, Captain. Alive and well. If you would like, I can take you to see him.”

There was no way to say yes, no way to thank him. No way at all to express the explosion of gratitude and relief that had taken up all the space in his chest. He would have believed his heart might have simply burst, but he could still feel it hammering away at his breast.

Anduin lifted him up and carried him from the room, and they made their way through the parlor with its soldiers and stacks of animals awaiting portals back to Stormwind, down the corridor to where Flynn knew a few turns would lead them into the decaying garden. But Anduin went the other way, and brought him to a room that still had a door. It was open, sitting off kilter on its hinges, and inside was a table, upon which lay Shaw. There were healers with him, and Greymane stood watch on the far side of the room, once more in his human form. He shot Flynn a contemptuous sneer as they entered, but Flynn couldn’t bring himself to care.

With a last scratch below one ear, Anduin set Flynn on the table. Shaw’s eyes were closed, but he was breathing, and though he was still covered in blood, most of it had dried. There was no sign of the wounds Flynn had inflicted on him during his feral state.

“Anduin, is it truly wise to allow him this close to Shaw after what he did?”

“Genn, leave it,” Anduin muttered. He joined the other king by the wall, nodding to the healers, who made a quiet exit. Wise of him to stay, Flynn thought. Much of a bastard as he was, Greymane was right: there was no telling what Flynn might do if he slipped into another episode around Shaw.

He lay down on the table next to Shaw, who was lying on his front amidst a makeshift bed of blood-soaked cloth, and simply watched him breathe. After a few minutes he set his head down on Shaw’s folded wing, where he supposed a shoulder might have been on a human.

“Perhaps you should see if Jaina needs any help,” he heard Anduin whisper. Greymane sighed, but accepted the not-so-subtle banishment. When Flynn looked again, Anduin had found something to occupy himself. He was turned away, giving them privacy—and offering Flynn his trust. He was a good lad, that one.

Flynn didn’t know how long they remained that way. He simply lay there purring, his paws tucked under him, chin resting lightly on Shaw as he slept. After a time he felt the body beneath his head begin to shift, and heard the same small sounds Shaw had made before, when they first found one another in the hall. When he opened his eyes, Shaw’s head was turned and slightly cocked.

 _“Hello again,”_ Flynn said. He wasn’t certain Shaw could still feel his emotions through the words he was saying, but he tried to pour all the warmth and affection and regret he felt into those two, hoping they might be enough.

Shaw keened again and started trying to stand, struggling to get his feet beneath him. Flynn moved away, and it hurt. Every part of it hurt him, knowing that Shaw wanted to get away from him. Of course he did. Flynn had nearly killed him, why would he ever believe that might be forgiven? He didn’t deserve it.

“Let me help you,” Anduin said. He appeared from the far side of the room, coming to lift Shaw out of the bedding and help him to his feet. Shaw gained his balance and spread his wings out, giving them a flap—only to promptly stumble as one wing went stiff and then fell limp onto the table.

Something clenched in Flynn’s chest. That was one of the injuries Anduin had spoken of, the bit the Light couldn’t heal. _The damage was extensive,_ he had said.

 _“I never meant to hurt you,”_ Flynn told him. He knew it wouldn’t matter anymore, and he didn’t have the right to even hope Shaw might care, but he could leave it unspoken. Shaw deserved that much. _“I would die before I ever hurt you. Even before… What I mean is, you were only trying to help me, and as usual I mucked it all up. I know that. I only wanted to tell you how sorry I am before I… lose the chance, I suppose. I really am, Mathias. If you don’t ever believe another word I say, please believe that. I’ll never forgive myself for any of it.”_

And then he was done, and he had said all he wanted to say. There was nothing more to do but leave.

Shaw watched him with those bright green eyes, his injured wing still hanging uselessly at his side. Selfishly, Flynn knew some part of him still desperately wished for forgiveness, deserved or not. Whether as a friend or a lover, he couldn’t imagine his life without Mathias Shaw in it; he hadn’t been making idle gestures when he told Shaw that he was home to him.

Flynn dropped his gaze to the table. More blood had stained the rough wood, seeped into the cracks that had formed over the years or decades since the ancient manor last held life. It would remain there until time and the salt air swept it away one tiny sliver at a time.

 _“I’ll go,”_ he said quietly.

There was a slight nibble at his ear, and Flynn looked up. Shaw was just watching him, and there was no telling what he was thinking. Birds weren’t terribly good for that sort of thing. But then he looked down, and Flynn followed his gaze, unsure of what he was supposed to be seeing, exactly.

_“I’m… not sure…”_

Shaw screeched, flapped his good wing once, and lowered his head again. Flynn looked down, and was abruptly met with the top of Shaw’s head bumping into his. For a few seconds he wasn’t sure just what to make of it, and then he remembered. That little gesture between them. The soft press of his forehead to Shaw’s.

_“You can’t possibly still—Mathias. I don’t deserve it.”_

He was buffeted with a wing again, and took the rebuke for Shaw’s answer.

They remained there for what felt like ages, heads pressed together, simply breathing. Nothing to say because there was nothing that could be said.

After a while, Anduin gently cleared his throat. “I don’t wish to interrupt, but…” He turned and looked at the door. Flynn and Shaw both followed his gaze to where Jaina was standing just outside.

“I may have a theory,” she said.

* * *

  
  
They gathered in the hall once more, with all the animals stacked one atop the other like piles of books around them. In the center of the room, framed by that tower of cages, lay a circle of glowing purple light. Arcane symbols surrounded the outside of the shape, and lines bisected it in places, joined here and there by smaller circles. Shaw had seen its like many times over, but he would never truly understand the deeper meaning. Not more than a layman’s description could express in writing.

“I believe I know how to break the curse,” Jaina announced, standing in the middle of the circle.

 _“Tides, let it be true,”_ Flynn said. Shaw could feel his hope—and his fear. Fear that it wouldn’t work, or that it would work for a short time and then he would wake again as a cat.

Shaw was, strangely, perched on the king’s shoulder. Flynn was right: Anduin really did need a pet of his own. Shaw made the quietest sound he could and said, _“Then let’s get on with it,”_ for no other reason than to say _something_. He was so tired of not being heard. How Flynn had managed it for months was a complete mystery to him. Then again, it was possibly Flynn was simply used to people ignoring most of what he said. Being underestimated had its advantages.

Just as Shaw had the last time, Anduin asked, “Is there any risk to the cursed animals?”

Jaina shook her head. “I don’t believe so. There is a wealth of pilfered research in some of the upper rooms, and a great deal of it suggests that this transformation spell was of particular interest to him. Much of it seems intended to be reversible, but he modified the spells, changing them as he saw fit using ancient knowledge gathered from several sources. Toying with dark magic he didn’t truly understand. In some sick, twisted way, I think he actually enjoyed that part of it.”

 _“Think he enjoyed all of it,”_ Flynn groused.

“Reversible.” Anduin crossed his arms, forcing Shaw to shift a bit. Surprisingly difficult to do with one injured wing. “And the episodes? That… wild state Captain Fairwind shifts into, that will reverse as well?”

“I have to assume the side effects of the curse will be undone by its removal, yes,” Jaina said. “At least, that’s what I hope.”

Shaw couldn’t imagine being a human and yet succumbing to occasional bouts of what amounted to madness, with no knowledge of his actions nor memory of them once he regained control. That would mean the end of his career, the end of his life as he knew it. And if the effect continued to progress regardless, if he slowly continued to lose himself more and more, as Flynn had been…?

He would rather he had died.

“Well,” the king sighed, turning to regard Shaw from the corner of his eye. “I imagine they’re all eager to begin. Let us not waste any more time.”

“How do you intend to keep the rest of these creatures contained while you change them back?” Greymane asked. “Most of them seem to have little or no humanity left at all. I doubt they will sit still for you, and leaving them caged would kill them.”

“I will need them all present when I perform the spell, so letting them loose isn’t an option. I… have thought of a way to ensure they stay put. Unfortunately, it won’t be pleasant.”

 _“You’re going to freeze them, aren’t you,”_ Flynn sighed.

“I’m going to have to freeze them.”

Greymane made a face, suggesting he did not approve of the idea. Then again, given that the man had been cursed with a beastly form himself, Shaw could understand his discomfort with the thought of subjecting the transformed humans to what would almost certainly be a terrifying experience. Still, there was nothing for it.

“Jaina, what makes you believe this will be more effective than your last attempt?” Anduin asked, and Shaw cringed a bit. He thought back to his own argument with Jaina, aboard the _Wind’s Redemption_. While Anduin could get away with speaking to her that way, Shaw had no doubts that she was rankled by the question. That failure had been a public one.

“The research I found suggests that the spells are linked,” she answered.

“Linked?”

“The reason Captain Fairwind turned back after a short time is that none of the other victims had their own curses removed.” She paused, tapping her finger against the grip of her staff. “Think of it like a tree. You can take a single branch and bend it somewhat, but it will snap back when you let go. All of the branches are attached to that same central point—the trunk. It anchors them, gives them stability.”

Greymane scoffed. “You could simply _cut_ the branch, could you not?”

“That would be akin to killing the victim. And like any wound, even one on a tree, it may have catastrophic consequences for the rest of the whole. Any one death may render the curse irreversible.”

 _“Light,”_ Shaw said, feeling slightly dizzy from the implications. He had nearly allowed Flynn to be killed through his own negligence, and in doing so he might have condemned scores of innocents to a fate worse than death.

“However,” Jaina went on, “while you cannot bend the branch permanently, and you definitely shouldn’t break it, you can change the direction in which the entire tree grows. Any number of outside forces can accomplish it, and _that_ is what we are going to do today. Theoretically.”

Flynn, who was sitting at the king’s feet, perked his ears forward. _“Now you’ve lost me,”_ he said. _“I hope the rest of you understand this madness.”_

“There is no countercurse. Not as the spell exists now. If I had more time I might eventually determine all the changes he made, but I would have to retrace his steps. We don’t have that long.” She gestured to the circle beneath her feet. “Captain, Master Shaw.”

Flynn let out a huff and padded over to stand beside her. Shaw had to be carried there by the king, which was humiliating. He gently stepped onto Anduin’s arm and tried not to cause him any harm as he was lowered onto the ground. It was difficult to control how his talons gripped certain things, human flesh chief among them, it seemed. Even more so with one wing lame, throwing off his balance.

 _“At least I had a good five minutes or so of flight,”_ he muttered to himself. It came out as something like a hoarse growl.

The king stepped back out of the circle, and from the corner of his eye Shaw watched as Jaina began to glow faintly. All at once, the cages around them began to crumble to dust, disappearing as Jaina willed it, and the animals inside were released. In the same instant she threw her arms out, freezing every one of them in place. Even the fish were trapped, some of them mid-flop, as the tanks and all the water within were magicked away into nothing.

A low, almost imperceptible hum filled the air, moving in ripples like a vibration on the surface of a still pond. It was the same sound as before, on the ship, when Jaina had turned Flynn back into a human the first time. Only now it was much, _much_ louder.

Flynn turned to Shaw, fixing those slit, storm-washed eyes on him. _“If this doesn’t work, you should know I sort of, erm…”_ He hesitated. _“Well I suppose I love you,”_ he said.

There was no trace whatsoever of uncertainty in his confession, nothing at all like his fumbling delivery might suggest. He was absolutely sincere.

Shaw could only stare at him, too stunned to know quite what to think. He had known Flynn cared for him, of course, but love? Love was a whole other order of thing. A place Shaw had rarely been, if he had ever been there at all.

The scrawl of arcane symbols and arcing lines began to glow an intense, vibrant purple, and Shaw squinted against it even as he tried to keep his eyes on Flynn. He ought to say something, even if Flynn couldn’t understand it. A confession like that deserved a reply.

“Flynn, I—”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning to post this earlier in the week, but a few things got in the way. It's here now though! Second to last chapter. I'm already working on the next one, so I expect it should be ready next week. Fingers crossed.

Shaw froze. Whatever he had been about to say was lost to the sudden silence in the room.

He had _heard_ himself. His own voice, speaking to Flynn.

In the blink of an eye, he was no longer standing at Jaina’s feet, but beside her. Flynn was next to him, arms already raised high in celebration. Of course he wasn’t surprised—this was nothing new to him.

“It worked!” he crowed. He bounced in place and then threw himself at Shaw, wrapping his arms around his neck and dragging him in for a barrage of sloppy, slightly scratchy kisses that left Shaw unable to suppress a laugh. Without thinking, he turned and gripped Flynn in a one-armed embrace and returned a single kiss. This time on the lips.

King Anduin cleared his throat. He seemed to find the far wall very interesting all of a sudden. “It’s good to have you back, Master Shaw,” he said.

Shaw bowed his head as much as he could with Flynn still wrapped around him. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It’s good to be back,” he said, before turning to Jaina. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“You’re very welcome,” Jaina responded with a smile of her own. She craned her neck to look past Shaw, where Flynn still had his face half-buried in Shaw’s neck. It was possible he was simply smelling him now, which was odd. Odder still was how it made Shaw’s heart race. He couldn’t say that it was pleasure, exactly, and that was troubling. “How do you feel, Captain?” Jaina asked Flynn. “Any lingering cat-like urges?”

Flynn froze. It seemed he had just remembered they were quite literally _surrounded_ by people. He kept his arms around Shaw, but couldn’t quite hide his embarrassment.

“Ah, well, you know… good as ever, I suppose,” he said. The smile that had been permanently etched onto his features fell away, and he pulled his arms from Shaw to turn and take a look at the icy tableau that surrounded them. The frozen animals were animals no more; they had been returned to their human forms, just like Flynn and Shaw. “Are they…?” he asked.

The room was far too full to be so quiet. Jaina turned around to face the wall of perfectly clear ice. “There really isn’t any way to tell. Not just by looking.”

“Perhaps you should only unfreeze a few at a time,” Anduin suggested. “I can help if needed.”

Jaina nodded. She banished the ice around a handful of them, those closest to where they were all standing. The group included the former gull and weasel.

They dropped to the flats of their feet and wobbled a bit, as though unsure of how to stand, looking around the room both bewildered and wary. The woman who had been the gull looked at Flynn and an expression of what Shaw could only describe as pure joy came over her. She stumbled toward him and threw her arms around his shoulders, capturing Shaw in the same hug as well. “You!” she said. “From the road! I know you!”

“Aye,” Flynn laughed, patting her on the back. He was only holding Shaw with one arm by that point, trying to comfort the woman with the other. “Told you I’d get you out.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. There were tears in her eyes when she stepped back. She wiped a hand across her face and smiled kindly at Shaw. “Oh, yes, I remember you as well,” she said with a sniffle. “Thank you so much. Both of you.”

“The thanks should go to Lord Admiral Proudmoore and King Wrynn,” Shaw said evenly, and without meeting her eyes. He wasn’t interested in being thanked for his part in any of it. He had hardly done anything besides make several very costly mistakes, up to and including being abducted and turned himself.

Her eyes widened as she seemed to realize who was standing on Shaw’s other side. She dropped into a curtsy and lowered her head. “Lord Admiral,” she said. “And Your Majesty. Of course, thank you, truly. I’d feared we would be trapped that way forever.”

“You nearly were,” Jaina said. She put a comforting hand on the woman’s shoulder.

The rest of the small group, the weasel included, seemed too stunned to know what to say. They shuffled about, taking in the new perspective on what had only recently been their prison—the scorch marks on the walls from Jaina’s fight with the mage, the soldiers who stood in every doorway. Greymane.

“If you will allow me,” Anduin said, stepping up close, “I can help with what I am certain you must be feeling, having regained your human forms so suddenly.” He was offering them a blessing of the Light. Shaw was tempted to ask for one himself.

With a general murmur and several expressions of gratitude, they all accepted his offer one by one. Anduin blessed them each, soothing their anxiety, and the fear that Shaw knew they were all experiencing. He knew it because he was feeling the same way. The sort of ordeal they had been through… it didn’t seem as though it simply went away once the curse was broken. And he had only been cursed for a day. He wondered if that was how Flynn had felt the first time.

“Come along,” Greymane said, guiding the first group from the hall once they were through with the king. “We will see you portaled back to your homes shortly.”

“There are so many of them still,” Anduin murmured as the others left.

Jaina, who was preparing to unfreeze another group, nodded. “And there is no telling what state they may be in.”

“That lot seemed fine,” Flynn said. He still hadn’t let go of Shaw. His fingers were dug into the gaps between his leather armor, as though he was afraid Shaw might simply fly away if he didn’t keep a hold on him.

“We may have gotten lucky,” Jaina replied. “Hopefully that remains true with the others.” She released the ice, and the next half-dozen people came stumbling back to themselves with all the same grace as the last group had. Most seemed baffled by the sudden changes, but the recognition slowly returned to their eyes as they accepted that they had been returned to their original forms.

All but one.

He had been a badger, and did not seem to understand that he wasn’t one any longer.

At first he only looked around the room like the others, taking in his surroundings, but when another in the group strayed too close he started making strange sounds, growling low in his throat. Then he lunged.

“No!” Flynn shouted, but the man had already sunk his teeth into the arm of his victim, and he was thrashing, whipping his head around as though trying to tear out flesh.

Shaw grabbed Flynn before he could get too close and be drawn into the chaos. He was hardly aware of doing it, only the sudden pounding in his temples and the need to move _away_ that thrummed like electricity under his skin. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the fighting ceased with the appearance of a shimmering arc of gold between the two men.

“Jaina,” Anduin said calmly.

She refroze the first man, allowing the other to break free of his grasp. Anduin quickly healed his injuries, this time bestowing a blessing without bothering to ask. It helped, but there was still a palpable air of fear and tension in the room at the sudden bout of violence.

Flynn had relaxed in Shaw’s grip, but he was still pulling a bit. As though he needed to be a part of what was happening. King Anduin seemed to notice.

“Perhaps you should both return to Stormwind,” he said, giving Jaina a curt nod. He began moving among the others, offering one blessing after another, while Jaina conjured a portal back to the city.

“Your Majesty, I can help—” Shaw began, only to be cut off by a look. He straightened up, offering a courteous duck of his head in thanks for the king’s consideration. “Of course. Thank you.”

“What, we’re leaving?” Flynn asked incredulously. The silent exchange seemed to have gone over his head entirely. “But there’s more to do…”

“We’re going home, Fairwind,” Shaw said, dragging him toward the portal.

“Home? But Mathias—”

The last of Flynn’s objections were swallowed up by the portal as they stepped through. He thought he caught a smirk from Jaina before the whorl of magic gave way to the quiet and calm of the keep, but he couldn’t be certain. He wouldn’t have put it past her.

“It’s our room,” Flynn said, as though he expected to be somewhere else. They were in the bedroom of the guest chambers that King Anduin had offered them when it was clear Flynn could no longer be left alone.

“Of course it is.”

“Don’t know why I thought… What are you doing?”

Shaw looked up. He had been untying and unbuckling his armor when Flynn’s question stopped him. “What?”

“Bit hasty, isn’t it?” Flynn said.

Light help them both, of _course_ he thought that.

“Flynn? I was beaten and held captive in a dungeon before being turned into a bird.” He didn’t bother to mention the injuries Flynn himself had inflicted, although just the thought of them made his shoulder ache. As if it wanted to remind him it was still there. “I would like to take a hot bath and have something to eat.” And try to forget any of it had happened.

“Oh.” Flynn squinted at him. “Oh, oh, yes, that makes sense, alright.”

“You thought we were just going to…”

“I mean.” He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “Yeah?”

Shaw rolled his eyes. “Give me a little credit, Fairwind.”

“Thought that _was_ giving you credit,” Flynn said with a grin. He then shucked his own coat and started stripping out of his clothes as well.

Shaw watched him curiously, wondering what it was he thought he was doing.

When Flynn caught him looking he shrugged again. “Bath, right?”

“I hadn’t realized we were taking one together.”

“Alright,” Flynn sighed. He tossed his belt on the floor and put his hands on his hips. All he had on was his trousers. “What say we do that thing where we skip past the awkward bit and get right to the good stuff.”

“Now who’s being too hasty.”

Flynn laughed. He stepped up close and put his hands on Shaw’s waist. Big, warm hands. It sent a shiver up Shaw’s spine. With his hips canted forward, it was difficult to miss how Flynn felt about being there with him. “Bath, then food, then _maybe_ a tumble if we’re both up to it tonight, though I wouldn’t hold out hope on that score. But for now let’s remember this is you and me, alright? None of this dancing around each other nonsense. I reckon we’re well past that point.”

Shaw considered it. “I could agree to those terms,” he said.

“Good.” Flynn lifted Shaw’s arm and started undoing one of the buckles on his side, apparently intent on helping him undress. He went to tug the strap forward to loosen it and his other hand came around Shaw’s back to brace him. That was when Shaw tensed. He hadn’t meant to do it, and he truly hoped Flynn hadn’t noticed. But of course he wasn’t that lucky.

Flynn stopped and set his forehead on Shaw’s shoulder. “I know it’s been months, but you still trust me, don’t you?”

“Well—”

“Mathias.”

“Of course I do. It’s been a while, Flynn, that’s all. ”

Flynn stepped back and looked at him. His eyes were dark and desirous, but there was something far too knowing in his gaze. “I won’t turn back again. Neither will you.”

Shaw could only stare at him. He swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. “You don’t know that,” he said quietly. “It’s only prudent to consider the possibility.”

“We won’t.”

But what if he was wrong? What if Jaina’s theory of the tree had been mistaken, or one of the other animals had been missing when they were all turned back, and they would just be beasts again in the morning? What if it could never truly be undone, and he would waste away little by little, until there was nothing left but some wild creature with no more than instincts to drive it? What would happen then? Flynn had nearly killed him once already. Was he going to wake up to claws in his back and fangs in his throat a second time?

“I’m so sorry,” Flynn whispered.

He didn’t have to guess what Flynn was apologizing for. It felt like a knife twisting in his gut. “It wasn’t you,” he said. “You had no control over that.”

Flynn shook his head. “Sorry about all of it, not just that bit. If I hadn’t gone and stuck my nose where it didn’t belong—”

“You were just doing a job.”

“That’s as may be, but it doesn’t change what happened. And you spent so long looking after me, keeping me safe—yes, keeping me safe,” he said more forcefully when Shaw started to object. “How did I repay that kindness?”

“You had no control over what happened,” Shaw repeated. “It has nothing to do with us. Not here. Not now. That isn’t why I’m hesitating.” Except it was, and Shaw was so exhausted, mentally and physically, that he couldn’t even tell if his lies were sticking anymore.

Flynn watched him for a moment, his eyes narrowed like he was thinking about something. Then, without warning, he grabbed Shaw by the shoulder and spun him around, shoving him forward onto a nearby table. With one arm—his good arm—folded and pinned, Flynn leaned down and closed his teeth around the back of Shaw’s neck.

There was no hiding the way his body responded, and it wasn’t the welcome heat of before, when Flynn had been holding him close. He was shivering with adrenaline and breathing hard, every honed instinct and reflex telling him to break free and fight.

Flynn didn’t bite down. “Tell me again it’s got nothing to do with us,” he said against Shaw’s skin.

“Flynn…” Shaw swallowed back the lump in his throat and forced himself to relax. He counted to ten over and over, waiting for his heartbeat to slow and match his breathing.

Far more gently than they had gone down onto the table, Flynn lifted them both up again. “You let me get the drop on you.”

“I didn’t think you were a threat,” Shaw lied. The truth was, he had been so preoccupied with the memory of what it had been like to feel his last desperate gasps for air, so certain he would die in a body he couldn’t escape, couldn’t move properly in, that he hadn’t been paying attention to what Flynn was doing. And by the time he _had_ realized what was happening, it had been like he was paralyzed. Like he was back in that hall, with Flynn on top of him, intent on his kill.

Flynn stared at him for a moment. There was no narrowed gaze this time, no assessing look. Just regret. “How’s your arm?” he asked, indicating the one he had left free.

Shaw gripped his shoulder and gave it a quick roll. “A little sore, but nothing I can’t work through.” It would take time to rebuild his strength, and privately he feared that it would never be the same, but Flynn had enough to worry about already. “I’m fine,” he added when Flynn didn’t seem convinced.

“Right. Well, you have your bath, I’ll see to some food for us both.”

“Wait, Flynn.” Shaw reached out and grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave. Not like this.”

Flynn shook his head sadly. “The last thing you need right now is me hovering around while you’re trying to sort yourself out.”

“I thought we were sharing the bath,” Shaw said, aiming for casual but falling far short of it. He hated how desperate he sounded. How he could still hear the unease in his own voice. It was humiliating.

Flynn didn’t even bother to answer that. He gently pulled his arm out of Shaw’s grip and started gathering up his own clothes. “Take some time for yourself, Mathias. Seems you need it.”

“I don’t want _time for myself_ , damn it,” Shaw snapped. “Do you think that because I’m having a little trouble right now that means I don’t want you around? Do you really believe that will help?”

“A little trouble? Mathias, you let me pin you. Didn’t even put up a fight you were so out of sorts.”

“It’s been two hours, Flynn. Have a little patience, for Light’s sake.”

Flynn pulled his shirt down over his head and scoffed. “I take that to mean you believe this is the sort of thing you can simply think away. Is that it? That if you ignore it enough, you may just be able to keep from going into a panic any time I’m on top of you.”

“It might take some time, yes, but there are ways—”

“What, like closing your eyes and pretending you’re somewhere else?”

Shaw reared back as though he’d been struck. “I wouldn’t—” But he would, wouldn’t he? And some part of him had already made up its mind to do just that. To simply put up with it, and pretend he wasn’t reliving those last few seconds of bone-deep, primal fight-or-flight instinct every time he felt Flynn move somewhere behind him. It was what he had done after escaping from Felsoul Hold. It was what he always did.

The look in Flynn’s eyes said he knew exactly what Shaw was thinking. “I’ll make my way down to the kitchens. See what I can find for us. Take your bath.”

“Do you know the way?” Shaw asked numbly. He didn’t have the first clue what else to say, and that seemed as good as anything.

“Well, I might have to crouch down here and there to get my bearings, but I think I’ve been there often enough on four legs that I can manage it on two.” He had his boots on, and he was holding the door with one hand, standing there as though he hadn’t made up his mind whether or not to leave. Then, “Go take care of yourself, Mathias. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Shaw couldn’t help himself. “Will you?”

Flynn remained there for a few seconds, staring into the distance at nothing. Then he opened the door and left.

* * *

  
  
He took the steps down to the second floor of the keep, where a smaller set of spiral stairs would lead him right to the kitchens. Problem was, he couldn’t quite remember how to get to those spiral stairs. His remark about crouching down to cat level to get his bearings had been intended as a bit of dark humor, but now he was starting to wonder if it wasn’t a good idea.

He looked around, ensuring that he was alone before dropping down onto his knees and craning his neck to look up at the hallway around him. There was a familiar tapestry on the wall, but he couldn’t remember if it had been the one on the way to the kitchens or the one that he passed on his way to the garden. It was quickly becoming clear how much he had relied on scent as a cat.

“For a moment I was struck with the urge to scratch behind your ear,” he heard a familiar voice say.

Flynn didn’t look up right away. “An—Your Majesty,” he quickly corrected. Pushing himself up off the floor, he sketched a quick and sloppy bow.

“Anduin is still acceptable, Captain.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that. Couldn’t exactly tell you the feeling was mutual. Flynn’ll do just fine.”

“Of course. Is there some reason you were on all fours in the middle of the hall, Flynn?” He was very clearly amused by the situation.

Flynn tried not to look as embarrassed as he felt when he said, “Well, y’see…” He searched for some way to say ‘I got lost and thought I might recall things better if I saw them as a cat would’ _without_ sounding like a complete fool. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind, so he just said that.

“I see. Well, if you would like, I can show you the way.” Anduin paused. “I don’t think I could manage to carry you on my shoulder, however.”

Flynn rolled his eyes and let the duly earned chagrin show in his smile. “Alright, alright. You’ve been saving these for when I was turned back, haven’t you.”

“I have a few more. Indulge me.”

“Don’t think I have much of a choice in that.”

They made their way to the spiral stairs, and as they walked Flynn answered Anduin’s questions about his time as a cat; the way his senses had changed, and how he felt now that he no longer saw and smelled the world the same way.

“And what about Master Shaw?” Anduin asked as they slipped into the nearly empty kitchen. There was one cook half asleep in the corner, a book propped open in her lap. Something was bubbling away in a large iron pot, but the rest of the space was tidy, and most of the surfaces cleaned for the evening. Flynn had to remind himself that for everyone but a restless house cat, it was late. “How is he faring without those keen senses he must have possessed as a hawk?”

Flynn thought of Shaw, and the way his eyes had been so full of uncertainty. He hadn’t even been aware of it, standing there with his fists clenched, stubbornly insisting he would simply get over nearly dying at Flynn’s hands. “Don’t suppose he had much time to get accustomed to it,” he muttered.

Too late he realized that his hesitation had been obvious. The king narrowed his eyes a bit and gave Flynn a searching look. The lad would be terrible at cards with a tell like that. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No, nothing,” Flynn said, shaking his head. He pocketed half a loaf of bread. If the bloody king wasn’t going to tell him not to, he figured it was alright.

“Flynn,” Anduin said, and there was something about that tone. Was it just something they taught to royalty?

Flynn turned away from the cheese he was slicing into and forced himself to meet Anduin’s eyes. “There are some things left over… we’re working on it.”

Anduin crossed his arms. “Well, that was informative.”

Sarcastic little fry. Flynn couldn’t help but like him more for it. “It’s—look.” He sighed. Was he allowed to say ‘look’ to a king? “You saw what I did to him.”

“You mean what the cat did.”

Something in Flynn snapped like a weathered line, and he threw the knife in his hand down on the wooden chopping counter, making an awful racket. The cook shot out of her chair with a rush of barely-coherent excuses, before bowing and apologizing her way out of the room and away from Anduin, who didn’t seem to have noticed she was there.

“I’m the cat!” Flynn shouted. He didn’t care that Anduin was the king. He didn’t care that Shaw was the blasted spymaster. He didn’t care about any of it anymore. “It’s not ‘me and the cat,’ understand? _I’m_ the cat, and I did that _as the cat_ , damn it! At least acknowledge that much!” He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at how tangled it was. “What is it with you mainland folk?” he went on. “You’ve got it in your heads that bad things just happen and there’s no rhyme or reason for any of it, so let’s all simply throw on a set of blinders and pretend no one’s at fault, no one’s got to think about it anymore!”

Anduin watched calmly as he stormed around the kitchen, making a mess and in general acting like an ass. Worrying about that was the last thing on his mind at the moment. “It’s not being blamed for it that has me so twisted up, alright? I can live with that. I _should_ live with it, and it’s only right. But this… denial that anything’s wrong, when it _is_. It’s all wrong. So what good’s it do to grin and bear it?” His leg was aching, the muscles strained from when he had crouched in the hall. The pacing wasn’t helping much either. “All these months, and now I can’t even touch him without a flinch, without some silly stoic front he feels obliged to put on, and for who?! Not me! I didn’t ask for that!”

When he finally ran out of steam, he collapsed in the chair the cook had vacated. He buried his face in his hands and groaned. “Any chance I can avoid a night in the Stockade if I claim I’m rabid?”

“I might be persuaded to consider leniency. Flynn,” Anduin said, taking a seat opposite him. “Has it occurred to you that you might be wrong?”

Flynn looked out from between his fingers and frowned. “No?”

“Yes, I am beginning to see that.” Anduin leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. Flynn couldn’t tell if he was trying to seem older, or if it was just a habit when he lectured people twice his size. “In the first place, why in the Light’s name would you be responsible for what happened when you were, for all intents and purposes, not present in your own body? There was no amount of willpower you could have exerted, no action you might have taken that would have returned you to yourself in time to stop it. You— _you_ , Flynn, had nothing to do with what happened. Had you been able to prevent it, you would have. I am absolutely certain of that much.”

“How?” Flynn asked. He meant _how could you know I would have stopped myself?_ Even when he had been in control of himself as a cat, there were some behaviors, some instincts, he couldn’t seem to ignore. How could they be sure that one of those wasn’t the instinct to kill?

“Because I have come to know you while you lived here in the keep. Granted, most of that time has been while you were a cat. I admit, it’s strange to be able to hold a conversation with you. I keep expecting you to start grooming yourself at any moment.”

Flynn snorted. “Good one.”

“Thank you. But Flynn, I know you well enough by now to feel confident you would never have harmed Master Shaw if there was any way you could avoid it. He knows that too. And so, when he makes that effort to ‘grin and bear it,’ as you said, it isn’t because he wants to pretend as though it never happened. In time he will have to accept that it did. Shaw’s world, Flynn, his entire life’s work, is harsh reality. He is the last man who would avoid facing the truth simply for the sake of it. And everything he does has a purpose. It seems to me that if he is doing this, if he is putting on that so-called silly, stoic front, it’s for you. Because he cares for you, and wants to help ease your guilt—even if he isn’t quite certain of the best way to go about it.”

Flynn wasn’t really sure what to say to that, so he said nothing. After a few moments Anduin reached out and set a hand atop his. “Shaw is strong, and he has survived far worse than this. Give him time. Allow him to do things his way, rather than attempting to force him into a shape you believe he should fit at this moment.”

It seemed odd, taking advice from someone so young. But, all things considered, Anduin Wrynn had probably seen as much of the world and the ugliness in it as Flynn himself. Maybe even more. “I can’t stand to remember how badly I hurt him. That’s all I see when he gets that look in his eyes. I see that hawk, covered in blood. I can almost taste it in my mouth.”

“Then use the memory as an incentive not to hurt him again.”

Flynn looked up. Anduin’s smile was still kind, but there was a heaviness to it now; a warning, and one Flynn realized he shouldn’t have been surprised to see. The young king really did care for his people. Even the silent, stoic ones with more stubbornness than sense. “I understand,” Flynn said. He stood up, made his way over to where the cheese lay abandoned on the block. “I hope you’ve got more of this,” he said, pocketing a third of the wheel.

“You might wish to take some wine and meat as well.”

“You planning to carry all that back for me?” Flynn asked, arching a brow at Anduin.

“I would, however I am extremely busy and I am afraid I have no time to spare for anything but my very serious duties. You have my deepest apologies, of course,” Anduin said, standing and offering Flynn the most insincere and over-the-top bow he possibly could. He couldn’t even be bothered to hide his grin. “Have a pleasant evening, Captain Fairwind, please give my regards to Master Shaw.”

“I liked you better when I was a cat,” Flynn called to his back as he retreated up the short steps out of the kitchen. He heard Anduin’s answering laugh, and smiled.

Then he started pilfering the fruit.

  
Maneuvering the latch on the door was a bit difficult with his hands full, but he managed it eventually, and shut the door behind him with his foot. The wine, cheese, bread, fruit, whatever cured meat he had obtained, and the few biscuits that were currently rocking around in his shirt were all deposited on the table in the center of the room.

There was an adjoined washroom, and Flynn could feel the humidity in the air that meant Shaw had gone and taken that bath. It had been close to an hour since he left. “You must be an absolute prune,” he said, loud enough that Shaw would be able to hear it. Unless he was underwater, Flynn supposed.

There was no answer from the other room, and it suddenly struck him that he had left Shaw with no idea whether or not he would ever come back, after a day that had included both of them very nearly dying more than once. And all of that on top of Flynn’s bumbling confession of love, which seemed to have fallen by the wayside amidst everything else. No wonder Shaw wasn’t interested in answering.

It was fortunate Anduin hadn’t been armed with those facts, or he might have skipped the lecture and just slapped Flynn across the face for being a fool. Wouldn’t have been entirely undeserved, either.

Flynn grimaced and tried to make himself forget the sight of Shaw’s eyes, haunted and red-rimmed from exhaustion. He thought of the day aboard the _Wind’s Redemption_ , instead, when Shaw had given himself away in that rare moment of uncertainty. The way he’d pulled his lower lip between his teeth for just a few seconds. It was unbearably charming. That was his Shaw, who was so stuffy and overly composed that he couldn’t even admit he had an emotion other than duty. Who had followed him to the inn and taken up watch outside his door, only to fall asleep sitting up. Who had blamed himself for an ambush he couldn’t possibly have prevented.

And then there was Flynn, so worried about how much it had all upset _him_ that he had left Shaw alone and made a lie of the feelings he’d professed just that evening.

The door to the washroom was cracked, and Flynn pushed it open just a bit to peer inside. He expected to be met with an icy green glare over the water’s surface. He had it in his head that Shaw would be sulking in the bath.

Instead, he found Shaw with his head pillowed on his arm on the tub’s edge, fast asleep.

Flynn leaned on the door jamb with his arms crossed and watched Shaw breathe. The room was still warm, but the water would be cold soon enough. Flynn had every intention of waking him, of course. He really did. He just wanted to watch for a bit.

After a few minutes, Shaw shifted in the water and his cheek slipped off his arm. He half-woke with a start, looking around the room as though he couldn’t remember where he was.

Flynn grabbed a towel and held it out for him. “Come on, love, let’s get you to bed.”

“Thought you weren’t coming back,” Shaw mumbled. Half of his mustache was wet and had changed direction entirely. He looked ridiculous, and Flynn had never loved him more.

“Of course I was. Needed to find something for us to eat. Took me a while, they must’ve shrunk the castle. Everything is so much smaller than I remember.”

“You’re much bigger,” Shaw said.

He stepped out of the tub, wobbling just a bit after making the mistake of leaning on his bad arm. Flynn tried not to let him see how much that worried him. He knew Shaw had the same fears about his leg.

What a pair they were.

“You’re welcome to drip dry, if you like,” Flynn said. He waggled his eyebrows for effect.

Shaw glared at him and snatched the towel out of his hands. After running it over his face and head he emerged looking like a drowned rat.

“You have never looked more handsome,” Flynn told him.

Instead of answering, Shaw gestured to the tub behind him. “You should take one.”

“Doubt I could carry it. Though, I’ve already lifted everything in this keep that isn’t nailed down, I reckon. It’s complimentary, right?”

“A bath, Fairwind.”

“Ah,” Flynn said. “Well, it just so happens I had a bath just before our little adventure this evening.” He had been locked in the map room long enough to go over every inch of himself twice. His hair could use a good combing, though.

“Licking yourself is not a bath.”

Shaw had the towel wrapped around his body all the way up to his shoulders, shuffling in the direction of the bed with the single-minded intensity of a man who had probably lost most of his blood less than three hours earlier. Flynn followed close behind, just in case he didn’t make it there.

“Yes it is, I’m perfectly clean. You should have something to eat before you sleep.”

“Not hungry anymore.”

Flynn glanced at the small trove of food he had smuggled back from the kitchen. It would keep, he supposed. “You really are terrible when you’re sleepy. I didn’t have this much trouble with you at the Snug Harbor.”

“At the time I was more concerned you might die.”

“Not worried about that now?” Flynn asked. He pulled back the covers and helped Shaw into the bed.

“The only person here who might kill you is me.”

“Good to know.” He supposed his evening would end on the sofa in the other room, then. That was fair enough.

“How are you awake,” Shaw muttered bitterly.

“Cat naps, love. Your suggestion.”

Shaw scoffed. “One of those naps was on me, as I recall.”

“It was, and you were quite comfortable. My very own feather bed. Get some rest, now.”

He began to snuff the candles around the room one by one, until the only light left was from the last remnants of the fire in the hearth. Flynn turned to leave, and caught sight of Shaw watching him in the near darkness.

“Where are you going?” he asked. The unspoken half of his question was clear: _why aren’t you getting in bed with me?_

“Thought maybe you would prefer if I gave you space. There’s a perfectly serviceable and rather plush sofa out there.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I can make do with that.”

“Get in this bed, Fairwind,” Shaw growled. He shifted back and dragged the covers with him. It didn’t escape Flynn’s notice that he was offering the space at his front, rather than his back.

 _If he is doing_ this, Anduin had said, _it’s for you._

Something in Flynn’s chest gave a lurch. Shaw had bent first, then. He wasn’t going to force himself, or pretend as though he was fine. Because Flynn was more important to him than doing things his way. Anduin had been right after all.

“You’ve already warmed that spot,” Flynn said gently. He moved around to the other side and made a shooing motion with both hands before he began the work of removing his clothes. A small rain of biscuit crumbs fell to the floor when he pulled his shirt from his pants, and he watched one of Shaw’s eyebrows arch curiously.

“Breakfast,” Flynn said.

When he was stripped down to nothing but his underclothes, he crawled into the bed behind Shaw, lying on his side with an arm tucked under the pillow. The other he draped across Shaw’s waist. He felt the sudden stiffness in his body, could hear Shaw’s breath start to come harder, and then, after a few very long and difficult minutes that seemed to go on forever, he relaxed.

Flynn pressed his forehead to the nape of Shaw’s neck. “We’ll do things your way,” he whispered.

Shaw reached down and squeezed his hand. “Then go to sleep, Fairwind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's so nice not to have to italicize half the dialogue anymore. 😭


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is twice as long as the others. I apologize for nothing.
> 
> I can't believe it's finally finished. Thank you for reading, and for being so patient! Many thanks to everyone who helped out along the way.

Shaw woke with a start, tensing so hard that his overtaxed muscles screamed silently in protest. It took several seconds, but he was able to convince himself that he was human, he was unharmed, and he was somewhere safe and familiar.

It was galling, being so shaken by what had happened. He hadn’t wanted to accept it at first. Certainly not once he’d realized how Flynn’s touch was affecting him.

He wasn’t _afraid_ of Flynn, of course. He hadn’t been so deeply traumatized by what had happened that he couldn’t work past it. If the Legion hadn’t managed to break him in the months they had his body and mind at their disposal, a brush with death at the hands of a lover wasn’t going to do it either. But that was the thing of it: Flynn was a lover, and before that a friend. Shaw was used to letting his guard down around him. He had never come right out and said it, of course, because in his long experience that sort of thing didn’t tend to go over well when spoken aloud. 

_“I thought I would let you know that I no longer consider you a potential threat to my life. Thank you for not killing me all the dozens of times you undoubtedly had the opportunity. I will now, finally, tell you where I live.”_

He had a feeling Flynn wouldn’t actually appreciate such a thing for the gesture of trust and affection it really was.

It was just that his body couldn’t seem to forget. He knew, logically, that Flynn was not going to kill him. He certainly wasn’t going to _eat_ him, at least not while he was a human. That had been an actual, genuine possibility when he was held captive by the Legion, and yet it still hadn’t shaken him as much as being pinned down, slowly choking to death on his own blood. Why couldn’t he let go of that?

With a huff, he rolled over and looked at Flynn. The man was still asleep, of course. He slept as a human the same way he had as a cat: fully committed to the act and unapologetically sprawled wherever he’d happened to land. Currently, that was over most of the bed.

It had been months since that ill-fated trip to Stormsong Valley, when he had made a foolish mistake as a result of his distraction and nearly cost Flynn his life. Not once since that day had Flynn ever given him reason to believe he blamed Shaw for what happened. Now Shaw was offering him the same absolution, and Flynn wouldn’t take it, even if he pretended that he had. _That_ was infuriating.

He frowned at Flynn in the slanted afternoon light that was pouring through the window. They had slept most of the day. Shaw, at least, had an excuse.

“Not s’posed to make mean faces at sleeping people,” Flynn mumbled. He still had his eyes closed.

Shaw’s frown deepened.

Flynn blinked a few times and yawned. He stretched like a cat, rolling over onto his back and pointing his toes to the foot of the bed. “Morning,” he said. “Should have bet you gold that we would stay human this time.”

“Probably.”

“More’s the pity. If I’d lost I wouldn’t have been able to pay. Food’s on the table there,” he said, stretching again. “Bit early for wine, I suppose, but there’s grapes.”

“Try to show _some_ remorse for stealing from the royal pantry.”

“The king was right there, if that’s not tacit permission I don’t know what is.”

Shaw rolled his eyes and sat up. He had forgotten that he was naked, having literally crawled into the bed following his bath. Oh well. It wasn’t anything Flynn hadn’t seen before, scars and all.

He made his way over to the small pile of pilfered food and plucked out a few grapes. The whole time he was keenly aware of Flynn’s eyes on him. “Something on your mind?” he asked casually.

“You could say that.”

Shaw turned around and leaned against the table. He smirked at the way Flynn’s gaze traveled the length of his body and back up again before he forced himself to hold eye contact. “You aren’t going to argue with me about anything today?”

Flynn grimaced. Not the most pleasant look to receive when standing nude in front of one’s lover. “I had some time to think last night,” he said, scratching at his hair. He needed a comb, but Shaw didn’t think he would appreciate hearing that, either. “It’s possible I was a bit…”

“Selfish?”

“Well you don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“You’re mistaken, I’m only reassessing my previously low expectations. I don’t suppose this change of heart had anything to do with the king?” He reached behind himself and pulled a few more grapes from the bunch. It was possible that going to bed hungry had been a mistake. He tried not to look as ravenous as he felt. How long had it been since he’d last eaten? A day? Two?

“He may have made some offhand comment,” Flynn muttered as he sat up. He stopped and narrowed his eyes. “Wait, low expectations?”

“Forget that, it's not important. I want to explain why I insisted the way I did. What my reasons were.”

“I understand it just fine, you don’t have to explain.”

Shaw rubbed his eyes, surprised to find they still felt so gritty. He probably needed more sleep. Amazing what one day of what essentially amounted to torture would demand of the body. Not to mention the healing, which had taken even more from him on top of everything else. “Do you?” he asked. “Flynn, I don’t have the luxury of dwelling on things. There isn’t time for self-examination or pity.”

“Not for yourself, no,” Flynn said simply. “The mission comes before everything else, including your own peace of mind.”

That wasn’t anything like what Shaw had expected him to say. It left him momentarily speechless, and in those few seconds Flynn took the opportunity to pull the rug the rest of the way out from under him.

“But _I_ don’t have a mission to fret about, Mathias. I’ve just got you. And my incredible personality, of course.”

“Sorry, me?”

“The way I see it, we’re even,” Flynn continued, getting up out of the bed and sauntering over. He was just as naked as Shaw, and clearly twice as comfortable with it. Well, he had good reason to be. “My leg, your arm. Score’s one to one now, no need to worry about who bears the burden of guilt today. So you take the time you need to wrestle that silly mind of yours into submission, make it see the world the way you need it to. I’ve assigned myself a task in the meantime: whatever it takes, whatever you need, I’ll see you have it.”

Shaw lifted his chin defiantly. “And those small setbacks you seem to disdain so much?” he asked.

Flynn smiled, the motion drawing little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Light, he was stunning. “If you like,” he said, “I’ll hold you twice as hard until your body forgets it ever saw any harm.”

Shaw’s throat felt unbearably tight, and he knew he was just standing there like a fool, holding a bunch of grapes and staring at Flynn. The air felt close between them, but not uncomfortably so. Just… heavy. All he could think to say was, “You said you loved me.”

“At the time I was concerned you might die,” Flynn said in a near-perfect imitation of Shaw’s exhausted, monotone growl from the night before.

“You’re an ass,” Shaw said, unable to stifle a small laugh.

“Aye, your pint-sized king made as much clear to me last night. Keep an eye on that one, by the way. And maybe encourage him to pull back on the sarcasm a bit here and there.”

Shaw scoffed. “You didn’t know his father if you think that’s possible.”

“I’d wager he’s picked it up from more than one source. Can’t imagine who else around here is as cheeky as that lad.”

“Please don’t call my king a lad. Or _cheeky_.”

“Too late,” Flynn said, leaning in to nuzzle Shaw’s cheek. “I may have also yelled at him last night.”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

But Flynn had already wrapped his arms around Shaw’s waist and drawn him in close to drive the question from his mouth with a kiss. He reached blindly for the grapes in Shaw’s hand and tossed them back onto the table. Shaw pulled back enough to say, “I was eating those.”

“They’ll keep.”

“But I might not.”

“Tides, man,” Flynn complained, smiling at him, “do you _ever_ stop talking?”

* * *

  
**Epilogue**

  
Jaina wanted them present when the mage was sentenced to his punishment. It had been three weeks since his capture and the subsequent undoing of the animal curse. Since Flynn had Shaw had finally uprooted themselves from Stormwind Keep and relocated to Shaw’s home in Old Town. During that time Jaina had been hard at work, attempting to decipher the mage’s research and unravel all the changes he had made to the original spell. As Shaw understood it, the task had not been easy or particularly pleasant; to say that he dipped into dark magic for his inspiration was mild at best.

Now they were gathered in the Stockade, standing outside a cell that was aglow with magical wards. It reminded Shaw of the Violet Hold in Dalaran, which was reassuring. Then he considered how many of the Hold’s prisoners had escaped over the years. He was less comfortable with the arrangement after that.

Stefan was the mage’s name, as it turned out. He declined to provide a surname, if he had one at all. Privately, Shaw was surprised they had managed to get as much as they had from him, given his open disdain for the admiralty, Stormwind, and in general everyone involved in his capture. He seemed to feel that he had been wrongly deprived of something he’d earned. Delusional didn’t begin to cover it.

“It took some doing, but I’ve managed to determine how you devised the curse you used,” Jaina informed him. She was standing closest to the cell, with Shaw, Flynn, and King Anduin behind her. “The original was far less… sadistic.”

“Why merely imitate the work of others when you can create something for yourself?” the mage asked. Shaw decided not to think of him as _Stefan_. It was too personal.

“And you chose to use that skill to enact cruelty, rather than improve the lives of others.”

He shrugged. “I’m fond of animals.”

Jaina cast a quick glance over her shoulder at Anduin, who only let out a quiet sigh and shook his head. He turned and left, his escort falling into step beside him as he ascended the steps that would take him out of that wing of the Stockade.

“That is fortunate,” Jaina said. Then, slipping into the far more formal, authoritative voice of a lord admiral, she announced “Of your forty-three victims, twelve have been lost to the damage wrought by your curse. They have no knowledge of who they are, or that they were ever human. You have stolen their lives. In effect, those people were murdered, replaced with mindless beasts driven only by instinct.”

Shaw felt Flynn’s arm brush against his. He shifted enough to return the gesture. Small comfort, given the circumstances, but at least it was something.

“You should know that King Wrynn did not approve of my choice of sentence,” Jaina went on. “Even now, you receive more compassion than you showed to any of your victims. Regardless, as Lord Admiral it is my right to punish you as I see fit, and it so happens that I disagree with the king. I believe a life is owed for the twelve you have taken, as well as the other thirty-one you nearly destroyed.”

“So it’s to be hanging, then?” the mage sneered. “You might’ve done this sooner, saved me weeks in this dank cell. And your self-righteous speech.”

“You won’t be hanged,” Jaina said.

It was the first time Shaw could recall ever seeing uncertainty in the man’s eyes. He sat up a little straighter. “Then—”

“You will be… _contained_.”

Shaw realized what was about to happen only a second before the wards dropped and Jaina began to gather magic around herself. It was all the same as before, only in reverse, and Shaw felt the sickening crawl of certainty that clutched at him from some hollow place in his gut.

Of course. Of _course_ Anduin had objected to this.

Hanging would have been far better. Perhaps even kinder. But a part of Shaw knew the bastard mage deserved what was coming to him, even if he was privately disturbed by the very notion of what Jaina was about to do. What was already occurring in front of him, even as he had the thought.

When it was over, and the flash of violet light in the dark corridor had faded, Jaina reached out and unlocked the cell.

A fish lay gasping on the bench, its black and white scales gleaming in the low light of the Stockade. Jaina conjured a bubble of water and placed the fish inside. It righted itself and began hurtling around the rippling globe, sharp blue eyes fixed on Jaina as its mouth flapped soundlessly.

“No,” Jaina said to the fish. “You won’t be returning to Kul Tiras. Despite his misgivings about the form I chose for your punishment, King Anduin has volunteered to let you live out your life in the safety of the keep. There are plenty of fountains, after all.”

The fish—the mage—began moving so erratically that he nearly leapt out of the bubble.

“Don’t worry. In time, you won’t even remember that you had once been a powerful practitioner of magic, capable of almost anything. You won’t have to think about your wasted potential. Unfortunately, you will also forget the lives you destroyed. If I could leave your memories intact I would. I don’t feel you deserve the mercy of oblivion. The curse, however, is even less forgiving than I am. And far less particular about it.”

She levitated the bubble, drawing it out of the cell and into the corridor with them. The mage stared at them, incapable of blinking. It was rather disconcerting.

“I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t bloody funny,” Flynn muttered under his breath.

His voice startled Shaw out of his own thoughts. He turned to Flynn. “I would think you of all people might appreciate how he must feel right now.”

“Oh, make no mistake, it’s a terrible fate.” Flynn poked the bubble warily. “But it’s one he’s earned several times over, don’t you think? Anyway, you stab people for a living, so I wouldn’t start throwing stones just yet, love.”

Shaw caught Jaina’s small smile, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t disapprove,” he said. “Not exactly.” He just wasn’t certain how he felt about potentially seeing the man as a fish every time he reported to the king.

  
They walked back from the Stockade alone, having watched Jaina portal herself and the bubble of mage-fish directly to the keep.

“If I said I was in the mood for chicken, would you panic and worry that I’m somehow still cursed?” Flynn asked out of nowhere.

Shaw continued walking, giving the question some thought. After a moment he said, “No. But if I told you I was craving small rodents—”

“Ugh, no, you win this one. Don’t even joke about that. I can’t bear the thought.” Flynn shuddered dramatically. “You didn’t…? When you were a bird?”

“No, Fairwind, I did not eat any rodents while I was a bird. Fortunately for me, you and the others arrived before feeding time.”

“Good. I’ve kissed you plenty since then, and I’d hate to think I shared that honor with a dead mouse.”

“Well, this is certainly the most erotic conversation I’ve ever had,” Shaw said dryly.

Flynn chuckled. “Wish I’d gotten to keep one of your feathers, though,” he said. “Like a lock of hair, sort of.” He glanced at Shaw. “No?”

“I think that would be incredibly odd. I wasn’t even a bird for an entire day.”

“Whereas I was a cat for months. But of course you would _never_ keep some little sentimental token of that time, would you.” He nudged Shaw’s ribs with his elbow and hummed, “Hmm? Would you?”

“I don’t appreciate you digging around in my things,” Shaw said, feigning disapproval. “I welcomed you into my home with the expectation that you would respect it.”

“Well, that was your first mistake,” Flynn laughed. He linked his arm with Shaw’s. “You romantic fool, you.”

Shaw looked away to hide what he was sure were a hundred little tells—things Flynn would pick up on and interpret with disturbing accuracy. He had never realized that in all the time they had known one another Flynn was apparently studying him, learning all those subtle cues and cataloguing their meaning. It was a strange feeling to be the subject of someone’s scrutiny for a purpose other than eventual assassination. It was… nice. Somewhat. Also a little disturbing.

He reached into his belt pocket and withdrew the tag, holding it out in his open palm. “It seemed like a waste to just throw it away,” he said.

“Just in case?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Possibly.”

“Admit it, you liked me better as a cat.”

Shaw shrugged his good shoulder. The other was still a bit sore, and the cool weather wasn’t helping. He would be fine once he was back inside. “You were far more portable that way. And you slept a lot.”

“Fair,” Flynn agreed, “but when I was a cat I couldn’t do this.” He abruptly seized Shaw by the wrist and dragged him into the alley between two buildings, pressing him hard into the wall. His lips were on Shaw’s in the space of a heartbeat, and his hands were—Light help him, they were _everywhere_.

“Not appropriate,” Shaw muttered between kisses.

“It’s the cat in me, can’t be helped.”

“Fairwind—” He was cut off by the sudden press of Flynn’s palm between his legs, warm and firm and apparently _very_ sure in its touch. He gasped, and Flynn took the opportunity to fill the silence with a quick dip of his tongue.

“I’ve been saving _‘cat got your tongue’_ for just this—”

“If you finish that sentence, I _will_ stab you.”

Flynn laughed and kissed him again. “Promises, promises,” he said with a wink.

Shaw couldn’t hold back a sigh. Light help him. Of all the freewheeling buccaneers in Kul Tiras, fate had handed him Flynn Fairwind.

Well, he supposed fate had actually been rather kind, all things considered. If a bit twisted in her sense of humor.

“Off, Fairwind,” he groused. He pushed at Flynn’s shoulder until he took a step back. “Not in public.”

“Then take me somewhere private, Master Shaw. Oh, don’t make that face, my coat was covering anything untoward any passersby might’ve seen. Your modesty is safe.”

“It’s not my modesty I’m worried about. I would just prefer not to see King Anduin disappointed twice in one day.”

Flynn seemed to consider that for a moment. “You know, I’ve gotten to know the lad a fair bit since you brought me here, and I think he’d be alright with it. After all, he was instrumental in talking me ‘round to your way of doing things. What with you being so ornery and brittle.”

“Are you trying to ensure I won’t ever have sex with you?”

Flynn bracketed him against the wall with both arms, leaning close to whisper, “You honestly think you could say no to me, mate?” in a voice that could only be described as _sultry_.

Evidently he had been saving _that_ for the right occasion as well.

  
“I’m supposed to report back to the keep,” Shaw protested as they stumbled through the door. Flynn kicked it shut behind them, rattling a shelf on the wall and sending several books over onto their sides.

“Well, you almost made it there,” Flynn giggled into his mouth.

They were in Shaw’s home in Old Town, with its perfect rooftop view of SI:7 headquarters and multiple quick, hidden exits that only Shaw knew of because he had created them. It wasn’t a very large place, but Flynn had settled in corner to corner anyway, seamlessly blending his life with Shaw’s. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to learn how good he was at making himself at home.

Shaw turned them both and guided Flynn back to the bed. “You said we’d do things my way,” he breathed against Flynn’s neck. He took the opportunity to bite down and suck a mark into his skin.

“Of course, love,” Flynn said. His hands were on Shaw’s armor, blindly seeking the many fastenings and ties he had been learning since he regained the use of his fingers. It was both convenient and highly alarming that he found them all so easily. “Anything you need, just tell me. Anything at all.”

Shaw promptly abandoned his growing concern for the integrity of his armor. “I need to be on top of you,” he said, shivering at the unguarded desire he could hear in his own voice.

“Oh,” Flynn sighed, “I like the sound of that.”

True to his word, Flynn had been almost _too_ reasonable about everything since the incident the night they were changed back, giving ground on issues Shaw knew he would have fought for in the past. It was sweet, in a way, but he wasn’t nearly as ‘brittle’ as Flynn seemed to think. Yes, he had been shaken, and it had taken him some time to get past that. But working through it in his own way—along with regular talks with King Anduin, which Shaw would deny even if the king swore by the Light—had done a great deal to walk back the lingering specter of that encounter.

And perhaps it would be some time before he could allow Flynn to touch him a certain way. But that small setback wasn’t going to slow him down. Certainly not now.

Flynn had already shucked most of his own clothing, demonstrating his ability to strip himself down to the skin in what could only be described as an unsettlingly short time. Shaw shook his head and went back to work on removing his own gauntlets and gloves. He loved feeling Flynn’s skin, the play of muscle underneath and how incredibly warm he was. They had spent weeks mapping each other’s bodies, and Shaw could safely say his hands and mouth had traveled the length of Flynn Fairwind and back several times over. It was familiar now, like coming home after a long absence. Flynn opened to him and welcomed him and he was sure he would never, ever grow tired of it.

When they were both naked, lying in the bed with arms and legs tangled, kissing slowly, Shaw reached back to the bedside drawer to withdraw the small jar he kept there.

Flynn smiled and nudged the underside of Shaw’s chin with his nose. “That's what you meant by on top, then?” he asked. As though he honestly expected anything else.

“Something like that. On your stomach or on your back?”

“Mmm,” Flynn hummed, “think I’d like to see you tonight.”

Shaw didn’t bother to try and hide the way his body responded to that, assuming he could have. A rolling flush crept down his body, and he watched Flynn’s gaze travel the length of him, coming to land on his erection.

“Definitely want to see _that_.”

With a small snort of laughter, Shaw sat up and resettled himself on his knees. He took one of Flynn’s legs and moved it aside, kneeling between them and taking a moment to enjoy the sight spread out before him. “Beautiful,” he said.

“Come on, now, you’ll make me blush.”

“You’re already blushing, Fairwind.” He leaned down to lick up the length of Flynn’s cock just once, making sure to go slow, to draw it out and really make him squirm.

“Don’t tease,” Flynn whined. He threw an arm across his eyes and lifted his hips, silently begging for more.

Shaw dipped his fingers into the jar and then set it aside. The salve warmed on his skin, becoming smooth as embersilk and filling the air with the scent of silverleaf and spices. He heard Flynn take a deep breath, saw the slow curl of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“I thought you wanted to watch me,” Shaw said quietly. He didn’t wait for a response before sliding his fingers between Flynn’s legs, fingertips unerringly finding the tight ring of muscle and slowly, so very _slowly_ circling around it. He spread the salve as he watched Flynn go nearly slack, the arm falling away from his face. He looked almost feverish, his darkened gaze fixed on Shaw while he worked the very tip of one finger inside, slowly pushing in up to the knuckle.

“More?” Shaw asked.

Flynn only whined and wiggled his hips a bit, which Shaw took to mean yes. He responded by slowly easing his finger in the rest of the way and giving it a slow twist. Flynn bucked and whined again, and Shaw crooked the finger to reward him. “Right about there?” he asked, though he knew exactly where he was by the sudden uptake in Flynn’s breathing, the way he shuddered and trembled until Shaw finally relented and pulled his finger back again.

“Take a breath,” he said gently. When Flynn seemed calm again he slowly returned to massaging that same spot, circling his finger over and over and watching Flynn’s body react to his touch. He could feel Flynn flex and twitch around him, gauge how every slide and push of his finger drew a different response. It was like playing an instrument that made the most arousing sounds he had ever heard. “How long do you think you can last like this?” he asked offhandedly. His intention was to keep Flynn on edge as long as possible, to watch him shake and shudder and pant as Shaw worked him into a state of lust so overwhelming that he begged for release.

“Not—” Flynn swallowed. Shaw could hear how dry his throat was already. “Not long,” he said.

“That’s a shame, Fairwind. My plans for you this evening don’t include finishing early.”

Flynn arched his neck and pushed down on Shaw’s finger, but Shaw was too quick for him. He eased off again, leaving Flynn in a pout. “That’s cruel, Mathias.”

“You’re the one who likes to point out what I do for a living.”

“Didn’t—oh, _tides_ , Mathias, ah!”

“Didn’t…?” Shaw prompted, pushing again.

Flynn panted, “What?” And then: “Oh. Didn’t—figure you’d use those skills on me, you beast.”

Shaw let a sly smile cross his face for just a few seconds before he locked it down again, feigning disapproval. “Well, if that’s how you feel, Captain…” he said, pretending as though he meant to pull out again. When Flynn frowned up at him he abruptly pressed forward, instead, repeating the same motions as before only faster, and slightly harder this time. Flynn cursed and bucked against his hand, clawing at the blankets beneath him and biting his lip until Shaw was worried he might hurt himself.

When he eased off again it left Flynn slack and dripping sweat. “You really are cruel,” he said with a lopsided smile.

“I know.”

He kept Flynn on the edge like that, pushing him hard and bringing him to the precipice of orgasm over and over, until Flynn was a whimpering, groaning mess of sweat and shaking limbs, pleading to come. Flynn had tried to get a hand on himself at one point, but Shaw only grabbed both of his wrists and knelt over him, pinning his arms above his head. He’d watched, looking down on Flynn, as he urged him a bit closer to his climax, feeling his own cock throbbing where it arched stiff and deep red against his stomach. He had been dripping precome for some time, almost enough to match the slow fountain of slick that had been steadily leaking from Flynn’s no doubt aching cock, and they were both a mess with it. The room smelled like sex and sweat and it was _intoxicating_.

“Math—Mathias please,” Flynn whispered hoarsely. He had clamped his thighs together, perhaps in an effort to wring his orgasm out of Shaw’s hand. It wasn’t going to work. “Can’t take it anymore, _please_.”

In Shaw’s present state—in _Flynn’s_ present state—there was no hope of anything approaching ‘lasting’ once he finally slid inside Flynn’s body. He knew that tight, slick heat would grip him and wring every last drop of come from him before he had thrust more than twice. What he needed was to bring himself back down and take Flynn along with him, because he had every intention of spending himself inside his lover after a good and lengthy fuck, and then looking on as he finally tipped Flynn over the edge as well.

Withdrawing his finger, Shaw stretched out alongside Flynn, letting go of his wrists and tutting gently when Flynn immediately tried to get a hand on himself. “Soon,” he promised, gently tilting Flynn’s face to draw him into a kiss.

“Mathias,” Flynn mumbled, opening his mouth to Shaw’s, whimpering when Shaw nipped at his lower lip.

“Tell me.” He hesitated, felt the need in his chest become a breath that propelled the word out of his mouth. “Love.”

Flynn’s eyes flew open and he gazed up at Shaw with such sincere, unflinching affection that it was almost difficult to look at. “Did you…?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t read into it,” Shaw said. He distracted Flynn with a hand between his legs, sliding up the crease of his ass and cupping his balls. He kneaded them slowly, watching Flynn’s eyes go dark and glassy and his eyelids slide shut as he sighed in pleasure.

“Those hands… too skilled for their own good,” Flynn mumbled. He bit his lip and grunted when Shaw’s wrist brushed his cock. “Light, tides, and blasted Elune for all I care, either put a hand on me or get inside me, Mathias, before I go off like a damned goblin barge.”

“Provocative imagery.”

“That’s it—”

Shaw quieted him with a tongue in his ear and a warm, exploratory hand on his nipple. He pinched and rolled, feeling the soft flesh pebble under his touch. “Not just yet.” He bent his head and took the other nipple in his mouth, smiling at the hiss above him. With a flick of his tongue and a warm breath, he shifted and turned his attention to the other one, leaving his fingers in place of his lips. After a moment he went back again. He continued that way, alternating sides back and forth, until Flynn was writhing beneath him, fingers tangled in his hair and hips thrusting mindlessly.

“Is your aim to make me come all over myself? Because if so, you’re doing a bang-up job of it.”

“Would that really be so bad,” Shaw said, bending again to lick one of Flynn’s nipples—the one between his pinched fingers at that particular moment.

“ _Ngh_ , yeah, tides, _do that_ ,” Flynn rasped. “Just like that.” He threw his head back and groaned, and Shaw felt his own cock throb in answer. “Planning to lick it up after?”

That got to Shaw more than he wanted to admit; the thought of it was enough to leave him twitching against Flynn’s hip, and there was no possible way Flynn hadn’t felt it.

“Like that, do you?” Flynn purred. He tightened his hold on Shaw’s hair to drag him away from his chest and into a kiss. Shaw continued to play with his nipples, but it was a halfhearted effort; all he really wanted by that point was to be deep inside Flynn’s body. Still, he held back.

Flynn knew what he was doing, of course. He was too smart not to. And so he persisted. “Like the thought of watching me lose it that way? Drawing your tongue and fingers through the mess I’ve made of myself? Maybe sucking me clean?”

“Now who’s being a tease?”

“Says the man who’s had his lips and fingers over every inch of me tonight. Mathias, don’t make me beg.”

“More.”

“Don’t make me beg _more_. I want you inside. Nice and deep in me, so I can see that look in your eyes right before you lose control and fuck me ‘til I can’t walk straight.”

Shaw made a sound he would never admit was essentially a growl. “So you like that, hm?” He couldn’t stop the single thrust against Flynn’s hip. Where _was_ that salve?

“Love it. Seeing your eyes shut tight because it’s almost too good, hearing you breathe hard as a wild beast while you fill me up. You want that too, don’t you? C’mon, Mathias. Give it to me now, don’t make me wait.”

His balls were aching and his cock was so hard it nearly hurt. He really didn’t think he was going to last much longer. As much as he enjoyed teasing Flynn into a frenzy, that blade cut both ways.

With a muttered “ _Fuck_ ,” he pushed himself up onto his knees and reached for the jar.

Flynn spread himself open, pulling his knees against his chest. “That’s it, love, sink in nice and deep now.”

“This will be significantly shorter if you keep talking like that,” Shaw warned him.

“If you’re using words more than two syllables long, you’re not so far gone you can’t make a good show of it,” Flynn countered.

Shaw shifted into place, moving Flynn’s ankles to his shoulders and lining himself up. His cock was slick from the salve, throbbing with his pounding heartbeat and practically drooling precome, and he winced as he touched himself for the first time that evening. He clenched his jaw tight as he pushed in, feeling Flynn’s heat swallowing him like a welcoming embrace. Whatever sounds either of them made were lost to the pounding in his temples. His balls settled against Flynn’s ass, and he finally released the breath he had been holding back.

“Fuck— _fuck_ ,” he rasped.

Flynn hummed in agreement and reached up to brace himself against the rickety headboard. He pushed down a bit, drawing another curse from Shaw.

“That’s it, Mattie. There you go,” he said as Shaw started to pump his hips slowly. “Take me just like you want. Come on. As hard as I know you want to.”

Oh, he wanted to. He wanted to fold Flynn in half and fuck into him until he was screaming. And Flynn would let him. He knew he would. Shaw was panting, flushed, and desperate, scrabbling for self control at the sight of Flynn spread out underneath him and begging. And those eyes—Flynn’s gorgeous, stormy eyes, so open and wanting, stripping him down to his most basic desires. He knew exactly how hard it was for Shaw to keep control, and he reveled in it, watching him claw at the edges of his restraint so he could make it good for both of them. Yet at the same time every fiber of his being was screaming at him to let go and _take_.

“Do it,” Flynn whispered, “come on, love.” As if he knew exactly what Shaw was thinking.

It didn’t really matter whether or not he did, in the end; Shaw couldn’t hold on, he couldn’t fight that urge deep in his belly, that electric tingle at the base of his spine that refused to be ignored. He leaned down, pressing Flynn’s legs back until he grunted from it, and drove his cock in deep and hard over and over. Flynn had both arms around his shoulders, and Shaw could hear the hoarse, heavy sound of his own breath against Flynn’s neck as he gave in. He could taste and smell the sweat, feel it between their bodies and under his hands where his fingers dug into Flynn’s thighs.

“So good, so good to me,” Flynn said in a small, breathless voice. He dropped his legs around Shaw’s waist and pulled him in tight. “Come on, do what you’ve been wanting to do. You’re almost there.”

Something like a whine tore its way out of Shaw’s throat, and he clenched his teeth to fight it back. But Flynn wasn’t having any of that. He pressed his lips to Shaw’s ear and made the most exquisite sounds—little half-moans, each one punched out of him by the force of Shaw’s thrusts. And then he whispered, “Won’t hurt me, Mathias. Go ahead. I can take it.” Shaw felt the tip of Flynn’s tongue in his ear, teeth scraping his earlobe. “Take it like I’m taking you right now. Go on, sweetheart, go ahead and bite.”

And Shaw couldn’t find the sense to do anything else.

He sank his teeth into the crook of Flynn’s neck and shoulder and held, cock buried deep and hips twitching. It was almost enough to make him come. Almost. It took every ounce of willpower he had to hold himself back. His fingers clutched at Flynn, toes digging into the sheets beneath them as he pounded into him with his teeth still clamped on his neck. Every thrust moved them up the bed, but Shaw kept dragging Flynn down on his cock each time he drove forward again, until he couldn’t hold the rhythm any longer.

“That’s it, right there. Just keep going. Fill me up nice and I promise I’ll come for you, love. All over both of us. You want that, don’t you. Want to feel it.”

Shaw came with his blood roaring in his ears and his whole body going rigid as he pumped into Flynn. Every twitch of his hips felt like it took a lifetime, and every breath was a struggle. He could hear himself grunting, the sound ripped from him like it was painful, though it was anything but. It was all distant and muzzy, like hearing through water. And then the last shudder of pleasure faded, and everything seemed to give out at once as he sagged against Flynn.

A finger poked him in the side. “Love. Love, don’t leave me like this. I know I called you cruel, but that was only teasing.”

Shaw sat up and blinked down at Flynn, who was still flushed and panting, cock lying at an angle against his stomach. He bent down for another kiss and asked, “Do you want my mouth on you?”

“Gods, yes. Suck me, come on.” Flynn pawed at first Shaw’s arm and then his head as he all but pushed him down onto his cock. Shaw tasted the slightly bitter tang of his precome and the muskier scent of Flynn himself, and he stopped thinking after that. Simply swallowed Flynn down and took him as far into his throat as he could, enjoying the way the rigid flesh felt against his lips, his tongue. He suckled at the head and then drew his mouth along the side a bit, watching Flynn further up the bed. He had his fingers fisted in the sheets and his eyes screwed shut.

“Or,” Shaw said, licking a long stripe up the underside and enjoying the way Flynn shivered, “I could ride you.”

Flynn’s eyes flew open, and his mouth worked soundlessly for just a moment. “You—you want to—”

“Come on, Flynn,” Shaw said, mimicking Flynn’s encouraging tone from earlier. “Don’t you want to come deep inside me while you’re still feeling me between your legs?” Turnabout was fair play, after all.

The string of curses Flynn let out made even Shaw’s ears feel hot. He released his hold on Flynn’s cock with one last suck, and moved to straddle his hips—facing the other way. “Hand me the jar,” he said, reaching an arm back.

Flynn passed it over, and Shaw scooped some of the aromatic salve onto his two fingers. He bent down over Flynn’s knees, reaching behind himself to press two fingers to his hole.

“Tidemother take me, that’s a pretty sight,” Flynn said. Shaw felt Flynn’s hands on his ass, and then he spread him open a bit more, giving him more room to work. He could feel himself stirring a bit. It was far too soon for a second round, but his body didn’t seem to care about that.

“Feel like helping?” Shaw gasped. A moment later Flynn pushed his hand aside and replaced Shaw’s fingers with his own, each much larger and broader. The slight sting of it had him clenching unconsciously around them. He felt so full already. It had been a long time since he’d taken a man; all of his encounters with Flynn so far had been the other way around, and they were both fine with that arrangement. But something about that night, the way Flynn had goaded him and encouraged him in equal measure, the climax that had practically broken Shaw—he wanted more of that. He wanted to fall asleep in Flynn’s arms, both of them exhausted and aching, a little sore. He wanted to remember it in the morning when he woke up next to the man he was in love with.

“That’s enough, I think,” he said. Flynn removed his fingers and Shaw gave Flynn’s still-straining erection a pass with some of the salve before he shifted his hips and sank down slowly. Inch by inch, feeling Flynn slide inside and spreading him open, his cock so hard and hot that it practically burned as Shaw took it all the way in. He came to a stop when he was fully seated, struggling to catch his breath.

“Oh, Mathias, that’s…” He heard Flynn swallow. “Can I move you?”

Shaw didn’t trust himself to answer without some embarrassing mishap, like his voice cracking. He nodded instead, trusting that Flynn would accept that much, and not push him for more.

Flynn’s hands settled on his hips, and then he was being pushed up slowly, leaning forward until his chest brushed Flynn’s knees. He felt the tip of Flynn’s cock nearly slip out, and then he was pulled back down into a sitting position, and the groan that rattled out of his chest was enough to wake the neighbors—if he’d had any. Both adjacent homes were also his. Just in case.

Flynn grunted, and it was the last remotely quiet sound he made. “That’s so good, Mathias. You take it so well. Don’t think I’ll ever get enough of watching my prick slide into that stunning ass of yours after this. Do you want me to come inside you? Leave you with a little bit of me running down your leg? Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

Shaw nodded again, but this time Flynn didn’t let it pass.

“Now now,” he chided, “I want to hear you say it. Let me hear those pretty words on your lips, sweetheart.”

A light slap on his ass made Shaw twitch, and he heard Flynn’s answering hiss as he clamped down on the cock that was currently so deep inside him he wondered how he could possibly fit it all. “Fairwind, if you make me beg for your— _ah!_ ” He yelped when Flynn bucked his hips, bouncing Shaw on his cock. Somehow it was even deeper than before. “You—bastard,” Shaw panted.

“Think I might prefer to do the work myself, Mathias. What do you reckon?”

Shaw gripped Flynn’s knees hard and held on as he was bounced again—several times. It was so very good and yet far too much. He allowed a whine to escape his throat, and then another, and soon he had abandoned any attempt at control, simply moaning like a whore while he was fucked half out of his mind.

“Want it deep?” Flynn asked, his breath coming out in great gusts like he’d gone ten rounds with an ogre. “Or just inside, so you can really _feel_ it?”

“ _Oh_ , that’s—” Shaw managed to moan, before words abandoned him once more and he was reduced to making incoherent sounds.

A few more thrusts drove up into him before he felt Flynn’s thighs tense and then he was pushed onto his chest again, until only the tip of Flynn’s cock was still inside him as he came. The first touch of slick heat on the sore and sensitive rim of his hole felt so good that he dropped his head between his shoulders and simply groaned, long and deep and satisfied. He could feel the come on his skin, smeared between them.

Flynn’s cock finally slipped all the way out and there was a small, wet slap as it hit his belly. Shaw suddenly felt incredibly exposed, kneeling as he was with his backside open and bare for Flynn to see. He felt a finger trace his still-gaping hole and shivered.

“Now that’s just a lovely sight,” Flynn sighed. “Wish I could keep you like this. Suppose the king wouldn’t appreciate that very much, would he.”

Shaw stiffened. The king. He was waiting in the keep.

“Shit,” he hissed. He ignored the pop of one knee as he hauled himself up out of the bed, and the way his cock gave an interested twitch when he felt the still-warm slick of come between his cheeks. He took a look over his shoulder to find Flynn on his back, arms behind his head and a look of supreme satisfaction on his face. The phrase _‘cat that got the cream’_ crossed his mind, but he had too much dignity to say it. Flynn could have all the easy jokes, since he seemed to enjoy them so damned much.

“Finally remembered that bit of business, have you? I’m sure Anduin won’t mind you being a little late,” Flynn said, watching Shaw collect the discarded pieces of his armor while he cleaned himself up. It was not exactly a comfortable afterglow.

“ _King_ Anduin will never complain, no, but that doesn’t mean I should take advantage of his patience. Where is my left bracer?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. And tell him it was for a good cause. He’ll understand, he’s a patient lad.”

Shaw spun on his heel. He had a towel in one hand, and a single bracer in the other. “Do you honestly think I’m going to tell him _why_ I’m late?” he asked incredulously.

“Would be funny if you did.”

With a scoff, Shaw threw the towel at him. “Consider cleaning yourself up, Fairwind.”

“Why? King’s not expecting _me_ ,” Flynn said with a grin.

* * *

Flynn waited until the count of sixty after he heard the last of Shaw’s footsteps fade, and then pushed himself up out of the bed. He would never admit that his back ached nearly as much as Shaw’s seemed to after a go-round like that. Tides, that had been something else; seeing Shaw undone like that, watching him surrender to his need and just _feel_. There was no denying what _that_ did for him. It was addictive, if he was being honest.

And true to his word—and the king’s—Shaw was getting better, little by little. Flynn wouldn’t ever claim he approved of it, the way Shaw stuffed his own difficulties down like that, pretending they couldn’t touch him anymore. He had a feeling it would come back to bite him like a startled shark pup sooner or later. But he knew the man, and so he knew why Shaw thought he had to do it. Why he forced himself to soldier on and pretend all that armor wasn’t covering up a body just as vulnerable as anyone else’s.

And speaking of armor…

Flynn found his coat on the floor and picked it up, shaking out one sleeve as he did so. A little sleight of hand (or foot, in his case) had allowed him to carefully hide Shaw’s missing bracer so that he wouldn’t be able to take it with him back to the keep. He retrieved it, looking over the two panels of stiff, blue leather tooled in gold and fastened together with small but sturdy straps. The bit of armor that protected Shaw’s forearms and, more importantly, his wrists.

After getting dressed, stopping to peer in the mirror and comb his fingers through his hair—no sense letting _everyone_ in the city know he’d just had a tumble—Flynn left the house and eased down the short steps to the street. Both his back and, if he was being honest, his backside were grateful for the consideration. Shaw really did throw himself into his work.

There was a leatherworker in Old Town, not far from Shaw’s home. Flynn made his way there with a whistle on his lips, and when he slipped inside he winked at the young woman who worked behind the counter. Couldn’t remember her name—started with an E? Maybe an S. Those two weren’t anything alike, were they. He shrugged and leaned on the counter. “Afternoon! I wonder if you can’t do something for me.”

“Repairs or custom work?” she asked. She did not seem charmed by his… charm. Frankly, that was difficult to believe.

“Ah, well, little bit of both?” Flynn said, shrugging. He produced the bracer and dug into his pocket, tossing the little brass tag that read _Flynn_ on the counter next to it. “Custom work, but it’ll take some alterations to the—”

“That’s Master Shaw’s armor.” She sounded surprised, but wary, and also _how in the bloody hell did she know that?_ “Where did you get this?” she demanded.

Would Shaw take exception to his business being spread amongst the common folk? Everything Flynn knew about him said yes. “If you really must know, I stole it. But it’s alright, he’s a friend of mine,” he assured her. “This is something of a surprise.”

“That you stole his armor?”

“How do you even know h—” He stood straight, hands up in a gesture of appeasement. “Look, we got off on the wrong foot. This is a present for him. I had to be a bit subtle about it, because if you know him, and I’m assuming from context that you do, which is also odd if I’m being perfectly honest, you know he’s not the sort of man to let others do nice things for him.”

She stared at him for an interminable moment, and Flynn was fairly certain she was going to give him the boot. Or call the city guard. Either way, he wasn’t getting that bracer back any time soon. Shaw was going to murder him.

“What do you need?” she said at last.

Flynn almost bounced on his toes, but he decided that might be pushing his luck. Instead, he carefully explained exactly what he wanted done, and waited to see what she thought of it. After all, if she didn’t think it was possible—

“One hour.”

He blinked at her. “That’s all?”

“It’s a simple job, but the resin will take time to cure.” She squinted at the tag. “Make it two.”

That wasn’t what he was expecting, but he wasn’t going to question it. “And how much—”

“Five gold.”

Flynn couldn’t help it, he barked a short laugh before slapping a hand over his mouth. _Five gold. Quite the offer for a cat._ If that wasn’t fate having a laugh, he didn’t know what was.

The woman raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s custom work on extremely high quality armor.”

“No, it’s not a problem,” he said, still chuckling to himself. “Not a problem at all. Here.” He handed her the gold—and if it was Shaw’s, well, the man wasn’t going to miss it, he owned three bloody homes after all—and signed his name at the bottom of the work order when it was offered.

She took the paper and looked at his name, then at the tag.

“It’s… a long story,” Flynn said.

Fortunately, she didn’t ask to hear it.

  
With two hours to spare, Flynn was a bit at a loss. He could go back and wait for Shaw, but that struck him as a little too cat-like for his tastes. He was through with all of that, quite frankly. He was a grown man with two legs and working fingers and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make a day of it. Also, he still had some of Shaw’s gold.

He kept to Old Town, mostly because he already knew his way around there, but also because the Trade District had been far too busy the last time he’d been through. All sorts of comings and goings happening in that part of the city. And as much as he enjoyed the company of dwarves—always good for a laugh and a drink or two—he knew that once he set foot in the Dwarven District he’d be lost for hours. Shaw would have tracked down his trail and retrieved his pilfered bracer on his own by then. It wasn’t much of a surprise if Shaw surprised himself.

There were other parts to Stormwind, of course, though he couldn’t imagine what he could find that might interest him over in the Mage Quarter. Lots of books and lectures, he assumed, and very little action to be had. Even worse was the solemn memorial garden that overlooked the harbor, where the only sounds were the birds and the gurgling fountains.

The thought of fountains abruptly reminded him of the mage-turned-fish, and he chuckled again. Stupid bastard. It might be fun to take him some breadcrumbs now and then. Watch him swim around uselessly and bump into walls. See how he liked being… 

Flynn stopped walking.

“Alright, now that’s just unlikely,” he muttered to himself.

Standing in front of a shop was a young boy holding a wooden crate, and in that crate stood two kittens. They were crawling up the sides, and the boy kept giving the box a gentle shake to make them sit back down again. They were old enough to have been weaned, and young enough that they still had that look of wide-eyed curiosity about them.

There really was only one reason for a child to stand around holding a box of cats.

“Giving those away, are you?” he asked, approaching the boy. He crouched down so that they were eye level. Little ones seemed to prefer that, he’d found. Made them feel less like they were being talked _at_ , and more like they were being talked _to_.

“Mother says I can’t keep them in the house,” the boy explained, looking profoundly sad, “but it’s too dangerous for them outside.”

“Aye, it’s a busy city,” Flynn agreed. He had firsthand experience with that sort of life, though at least Stormwind was warm. Compared to Boralus, anyway. “Have they got names?” he asked.

The boy shook his head. He held the box up with his knee and reached in to pull the little calico off the side for what must have been the fifth time since Flynn had walked over. She was an adventurous one. Her tiny tail ended in a nub, rather than a point, like the other. “What happened there?”

The boy shrugged. “She was born like that.”

“Huh.” Flynn looked at the other one, with her black and brown patches and little black toes. Her fur stuck out in all directions, with some of the little hairs already growing longer than others. She would have a thick coat when all was said and done, and her tail already had the makings of a proper bottlebrush. Between the two she was a bit more sedate, less interested in escaping, and far more keen on playing with her sister.

Flynn chewed on the corner of his mouth and considered both cats very carefully. He had more or less moved into Shaw’s home and made himself comfortable there. He slept in the man’s bed, ate his food, and—despite Shaw knowing nothing about it—spent his gold. Shaw had never discussed whether he expected Flynn to leave some day, and by all accounts it didn’t seem as though he ever intended to, especially given how awkward he was about that sort of thing. Flynn wasn’t sure if that meant he was a guest or something else entirely. He wasn’t sure it was proper to start dragging home strays in either case.

On the other hand, they were _distressingly_ cute.

* * *

Shaw stared at the kitten. The kitten stared back. He sighed. “What’s the name.”

“Well, she’s a saucy little minx,” Flynn said cheerily, picking the kitten up and rubbing his nose against hers. “I think it suits her.”

“Minx.”

The little bobtail perked her ears up and turned to look at Shaw. She had bright green eyes. It was difficult to pretend as though he didn’t actually find her adorable. He made an effort anyway.

“Aye, do you like it? More importantly, do you like her?” Flynn was sitting on the bed with the kitten in his arms. He was stripped down to his shirt and pants, and Minx—it was a fairly apt name, Shaw decided—was watching his toes wiggle back and forth with deadly intent.

“If I don’t, are you going to get rid of her?”

“Probably not.”

“Then I don’t have much of a choice, do I. And the other one…?”

Flynn made an _ah-ah!_ sound and pulled the kitten off his big toe, where she had sunk her teeth in. Rather than answering directly, he said, “You never told me I was Anduin’s first pet.”

“Unless you count Greymane,” Shaw muttered. Louder, he said, “King Varian didn’t have much use for animals underfoot.”

“That’s just sad, isn’t it? But he’s got one now, and he seems well pleased with her, too. She’s an easygoing little thing. I reckon she’ll teach that big slobbering wolf a lesson or two.”

Shaw finished removing his boots and set his gloves aside. He joined Flynn on the bed and tried not to embarrass himself when Minx came trotting over to him. “Did you get the cat for King Anduin because you thought he would appreciate it, or because you wanted to get back at Greymane.”

“A little bit of both, if I’m being honest. Also, er…”

Shaw winced at the claws that dug into the armor on his thighs. He couldn’t feel anything through it, of course, but the leather was custom, and very expensive. If he showed up at the leatherworker’s with tiny claw marks all over his armor they were going to send him packing to a new shop. “Also what,” he asked absently. He considered how long it would be before the kitten could safely wear a collar. That same shop would probably be able to fashion something similar to Flynn’s if he asked…

“Is it unseemly of me to hope Anduin’s cat might eat that bastard mage? He is a fish after all.”

There was no way to hide his laugh, and Shaw didn’t even bother trying. It startled the kitten, who arched and started shuffling sideways until she fell off his lap and onto the bed. “I don’t think it’s any worse than celebratory sex over it, do you?”

“Fair point.” Flynn was silent for a beat. “It was _really_ good sex, though.”

Shaw wouldn’t argue with that. His back and bad arm were still smarting. Along with a few other places. “And now you’ve brought a kitten home.” A kitten that was viciously attacking the blanket at that very moment. She seemed to think there was something alive underneath it. Shaw scooped her up with one hand and flipped her onto her back in his arms, keeping one palm on her chest to scratch beneath her chin. She wriggled in protest at first, and then seemed to realize she did in fact enjoy it, and promptly went limp.

“Well, I suppose… That is, she doesn’t have to stay here.” Shaw watched him pick at the frayed cuff of his sleeve. “She could come with me when I go.”

The way he said it, Shaw almost thought he meant for good. “It would be confusing for a cat, going back and forth between a ship and a home like that, don’t you think?”

When he looked up he found Flynn giving him a strange look. He seemed confused and slightly unhappy. “Flynn?” He watched Flynn struggle with whatever it was he wanted to say, and in that brief pause he realized what the problem was. “Flynn, this is your home now, too,” he said, quickly adding, “if you want it to be. I can’t stop you if you decide to go back to Kul Tiras, but—”

“Tidemother help me, Mathias, that’s all I needed to hear!” Flynn promptly threw Shaw onto his back on the bed, sending the now-sleepy kitten tumbling onto his chest. She was remarkably unperturbed by it. Before Shaw could take a breath to ask Flynn what he was doing, his lips were caught in a kiss, and by that point his tongue was far too busy to lodge a protest about it. He brought a hand up to tangle in Flynn’s hair, pulling him down closer. Minx wriggled away and disappeared off the side of the bed with a tiny thunk.

“Was that all you were after?” Shaw asked breathlessly when Flynn released him. “You needed me to say it?”

“A man does like to be told he’s wanted now and then,” Flynn answered. He nuzzled Shaw’s chin, prompting him to tilt his head back, and then went to work licking and biting his throat. It was a testament to the trust between them and his own willpower that Shaw’s heart no longer started racing when he did that. “And you never said anything more specific, so…”

“If you haven’t noticed by now, this isn’t my area of experti— _hah_ —”

Flynn hummed happily. He was unsettlingly good at getting his hands under Shaw’s armor with very little effort. “I hadn’t, actually. Here I thought, all these many months, that you were the sort of man who wore his heart on his sleeve. Must’ve picked up that impression on all those missions where you barely spoke two words other than to grunt an affirmative now and then.”

“You want specific,” Shaw said, licking his lips in an effort to focus himself. Flynn was dragging his nails over the clothed peak of one nipple, and it was driving him mad. Expecting a clear answer in the midst of that torment was just cruel.

 _Great,_ Shaw thought with a frown. He was starting to think like Flynn _._ Maybe it was a side effect of sharing that space with him for so long. He wondered if it wasn’t worth bringing it up to Jaina… 

“You’re wandering, Mathias.”

Shaw grimaced at the wooden crossbeams above the bed. He would only get through this if he forced himself to speak without thinking, because anything else would have him bogged down in the hows and whys. He wasn’t going to get _less_ ambiguous that way. “Alright,” he said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Alright. Flynn, I want you to stay here with me. Live here with me. I want you to—Light, that isn’t—” Somehow, not thinking about the words tumbling from his lips became easier with every coherent thought being driven from his head by Flynn’s fingers. “I want you to leave your things lying around, and insist on that damned kitten sleeping in the bed with us because I know you’re going to anyway. I want you to keep spending my gold and acting like you truly think I don’t notice. I want you to get restless and go out to sea, and then come back home to me when you’ve decided you miss the land instead.”

The slow torment stopped, and Shaw forced himself to open his eyes. Flynn was only watching him, his mouth hanging open and barely any breath passing his lips. “I want you to continue being irreverent and ridiculous with the king, because he needs it. He needs a friend just as much as he needed a pet, but you’re the only one between the two of us who would ever have the audacity to put that hand out. And I… I really do want that cat to eat the mage, actually. I do. That’s terrible of me, isn’t it. Light, you’ve ruined me.”

“Not yet,” Flynn said, leaning down again to place a kiss at the corner of Shaw’s mouth. “Thank you, love.”

“Don’t ever expect anything like that again.”

“I never would.”

Then Flynn rolled away and off the bed, and Shaw made a small noise of protest. He wasn’t sure his body was physically capable of making love a second time that day, but he had every intention of trying if Flynn was game. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Shaw started removing bits of armor as quickly as he was able. “Is it your mouth? Because—”

“No, you filthy mainlander. It’s this.”

He sat up on his elbows and looked at whatever Flynn was holding. It took him a moment to realize it was one of his bracers. His left one, in fact. “Where was it?”

“Ah, well… I may have stolen it. But that’s not important. Take a look.”

He handed it over to Shaw, who did as he’d been told and looked at the blue and gold leather. It was the same as ever. “What am I looking at?”

“Oh for—turn it over, you dolt.”

On the underside of the bracer, right where the stiff leather would sit over his wrist, a piece of the outer layer had been cut out and reformed around a small, flat object. A little circle of brass.

 _Flynn_ , it read.

Shaw sat up all the way, still holding the bracer in both hands, peering at the tag. It was in there securely; he would bet anything Flynn had taken it to the very same shop where the armor had been crafted. He could only imagine how that conversation had gone. “Flynn, this is…”

“You seemed so keen to keep it with you. I thought… Well, I thought a pouch can be lost, and it wouldn’t be safe to hang it around your neck, what with all that sneaking and murdering you get up to. But that way you’ll have it with you.” He was quiet for a moment, and Shaw could feel the weight of his stare. The uncertainty in his gaze. “Do you like it?” he asked quietly.

It had been done so carefully, so perfectly, that the tag was almost a part of the leather. It wouldn’t snag or fall out when he flexed his wrist. Of course, Flynn couldn’t have known the skill of the craftsmen he had taken it to, but the intent behind his gesture was staggering nonetheless.

“Flynn, I love it,” he said, still staring at the tag. He knew what the other side would say, but that wasn’t important. What mattered most was the reminder of Flynn he would have with him wherever he went. He looked up to find Flynn watching him with a small, slightly lopsided smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” Flynn said. But he was still smiling.

Shaw frowned at him. He didn’t like feeling as though he was being laughed at. “Flynn…” he warned.

“You just, uh,” Flynn said, gesturing at his own mouth. “You were biting your lip.”

Oh. “I suppose I was.” He swept his thumb over the brass tag. “Flynn. That night, just before Jaina changed us back.” He looked up at Flynn, forcing himself to meet his eyes. It wasn’t easy; for all his silliness and swagger, Flynn Fairwind was a braver man than he would ever be when it came to some things. “When you said you loved me.”

Flynn didn’t seem surprised, or worried, or even eager. He simply stood there, watching Shaw. Minx was at his feet again. She seemed determined to take down his big toe or die trying.

“I didn’t know how to answer it then. But I do now.”

That small smile deepened just a bit. He really was beautiful. Shaw couldn’t imagine how he had ever missed it before, or how he had managed to get so lucky.

“That so?” Flynn asked, though it was clear he already knew.

“It is,” Shaw said. “I’m… Words aren’t exactly my strongest skill. I know you still want me to be more specific, but. Maybe I could show you, instead.”

Flynn hesitated, but the aura of easy calm that surrounded him never wavered. Finally he took a step forward, and then another, and then he crawled onto the bed over Shaw, who leaned back to give him room. It was a good thing he had already removed most of his armor.

“So show me, Spymaster Shaw,” Flynn whispered in his ear.

Shaw glanced at the bracer still in his hand, and the brass tag embedded in the leather. He knew how he felt. It wasn’t so daunting as he had once believed, admitting that much to himself.

With great care, he set the bracer on the bedside table, and then he pulled Flynn down into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Shaw one-upped Flynn on the cat, bought Caper from the stable in Boralus, and had him brought to Stormwind.
> 
>   
> Art by Fellarch ❤️  
> 


End file.
